


Down From Heaven, Up From Hell

by catalysticskies



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Religious Connotations, coarse language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalysticskies/pseuds/catalysticskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allen's life had always been simple, despite its ups and downs; he worked for food, he travelled, he trained, he followed. After being abandoned for the third time in his life, he takes again to the circus, finding strength and comfort and the benefits of travel and anonymity, but he is soon pulled away from it all by a man claiming to have strange abilities and a message from gods. Thrust into the life he had tried so desperately to avoid, Allen quickly has to learn how to adapt and to fight if he wants any chance of protecting the things he's grown to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Oops I've started another multi-chapter fic, I don't have time for all of these. This one came about while I was doing research on gods in various cultures and working on a translation for the 'Apostles of God' DS game. I haven't planned out anything beforehand, so I have no idea where this is going or where it's going to end up (if I ever even finish it). I have a good feeling about this one, though, so hopefully it turns out alright in the end! Tags will be updated with chapters accordingly and characters are tagged in order of appearance, so if there's anything you don't want to see, check the tags before reading updated chapters, and feel free to ask me to tag something specific if I've missed it.  
> There won't be any major ships in this, but there's a lot that I have been and will continue to allude to throughout the chapters, so you can make of it all what you will. Updates are bound to be slow and irregular, so please bear with me.

The grounds are still bustling when Allen leaves the ringmaster's tent, weaving between tents and people and stepping over various items strewn about, props and tack and washbasins and tools. The smell of smoke and something delicious wafts by him as he passes the mess hall, but he doesn't stop; he'd already eaten, and he has things he needs to do. He heads for his own tent, which sits on the very outskirts of the grounds, pausing only to hold brief conversation with the elephant tamer (“Wonderful job today, Allen!” he says in French, and Allen does his best to thank him) and grab his newly cleaned coat from one of the assistants who had kindly offered to wash it while he was busy with the performance.

He pulls aside the doorflap and is met with the common sight of bare space, a worn hammock strewn up to his left and his suitcase sitting atop the lone stool on the other side. He folds his coat and places it on the hammock before going over to his suitcase, rifling through it for his wallet and checking the amount inside. He should have enough, but he might have to do some extra work in town, which means he'll have to leave now, while the sun still burns the sky pink.

He hears the doorflap being drawn back behind him, and he starts, shoving his wallet back into the recesses of his suitcase and standing, turning to be met with someone he's never seen. The man is tall, barely older than Allen, neatly dressed in a long coat and travel-worn boots, his hair –much longer than Allen had ever seen on a man, smooth and dark like black silk– tied back at his nape. His eyes meet Allen's in a narrowed glare, dark cobalt set in sharp features. He notices the sheath of a sword hanging from the man's waist, and wonders if he is yet again in some sort of trouble.

“Thank God,” he mutters, stepping forward and letting the fabric fall back to cover the entrance. “You're impossible to find, I was beginning to think you didn't exist. Pack your things, kid, you're coming with me.”

Allen narrows his eyes, flexing his hand at his side. “I beg your pardon?” he says slowly, mentally assessing the man's build and how well he could fight in the enclosed space of the tent.

The other man bristles a little, his mouth pulling into a hard line. “You heard me.”

“Yes, but I'm afraid I've no idea who you are, so I must decline the offer. What is it that you want from me?”

He looks up to the roof, muttering something under his breath before he looks back down at Allen. “There's a group of people in London that need your help,” he explains, though rather begrudgingly, “And I'm the unlucky bastard who was sent to collect you.”

London? He hasn't been to London in years; he left everything there behind when he left with his master, all that time ago. He can't think of anybody that would so much as remember him, let alone need his help. “I've no clue what you're talking about,” he replies, cautious. “Who is this group you're talking about?”

“It's called the Order. We're fighters.” That explains why the man carries a sword, Allen supposes. It's clear from his posture, his stance, the way he watches everything with a careful eye, that this man knows how to fight. “And for some reason we need you, other than that you belong there anyway.” His eyes cast down to Allen's left arm, the red flesh of his hand visible in the absence of his gloves, which he'd forgone while he'd been working around the grounds.

He tries not to show his confused disgust, wondering just what this man knows about him. “If you're fighters, then I'm afraid I have no idea why I'd be involved. I don't get in that many fights, I don't know what kind of help I'd be.”

“You're cursed, aren't you?” he asks, and Allen stops. He'd been careful, he'd stayed hidden, so how did this guy know? “I'm sure you know how it works. You get chased by demons, which is probably why you've taken to doing something that travels for work, I guess. We can teach you how to fight them. Heck, it'll be your _job_ to fight them, that's kind of what we need you for.”

Allen has been avoiding the demons all his life, only confronting them when he needs to, and here he is expected to do it as a job? “I know how to fight them,” he says, frowning distastefully at the thought. “I don't _want_ to, though.”

“Tough luck,” the man barks, crossing his arms. “They're going to keep coming after you no matter what you do, and it's better for all of us if you just join us, much as I'm beginning to hate the thought having actually met you.”

“You're quite rude, you know that?” Allen mutters, and he just shrugs. “Look, I can fight them just fine on my own, so I'd rather not go with you to lord only knows where to do it for a living. No thank you, try the house next door. I've heard the neighbours are quite fond of absolute codswallop.”

Allen could swear the man actually  _growls_ at him. “Fucking smartass,” he grumbles, one hand going to the hilt of the sword at his side. It looks more like habit than an actual plan to draw it, but Allen makes a note to watch his tongue more closely. “I don't think you understand the brevity of the situation, you selfish brat. You're not the only one who fights the demons, and the ones we deal with are much worse than the small fry that have caught your scent so far. We are fighting a  _war_ , and we need all the backup we can get. Luckily for you, you little brat, you've been chosen by the heavens to fulfil some crazy destiny or some shit. I don't know, I wasn't really listening. Long story short, you're coming with me whether you like it or not.”

Allen blinks at him. Frowns, blinks again. “Alright, hang on,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to wrap his head around it all. “You want me to fight in a war? I'm barely  _sixteen_ , I've lived in circuses my whole life, I make a fool of myself for a living, and you expect me to join a war out of nowhere because of some weird destiny? Excuse me, but  _are you quite sane_ ?”

“Why did I have to be the messenger,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “Look, you're an Apostle, alright? You're an Apostle, I'm an Apostle, and I need you to come with me to meet all the other fuck-crazy Apostles I had to be stuck with to, I don't know, save the world or something. Capisce?”

“Um, no.” The man groans in a long, drawn-out sigh. He looks like he's about ready to punch something, so Allen quickly tries to remedy the situation. “Sorry, I just-- I have no idea what you're on about. Honestly, you sound pretty barmy to me.”

“We are standing in a _circus_ , and you're calling _me_ barmy? What does barmy even mean, who the hell says that, fuck you.”

He tries to ignore the guy's apparent attitude problem and thinks it over, trying to make sense of anything that has come out of his mouth. “So, let me get this straight; I'm some kind of 'Apostle', of what I don't know, and you want me to go with you to a group of these Apostles and... save the world.”

“Yes!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up. “Praise the fucking _Lord_ , I was beginning to think you were retarded. Grab your things, let's get out before I catch rabies or something.”

“I'd just like to get it on record that I am honestly very dubious about everything you've said since you walked in here. How do I know you're not just lying to my face and trying to trick me into something?”

The man looks at him, one eyebrow hitched and clearly unimpressed. He sighs, takes a step closer to Allen (which makes him very nervous, but he doesn't move), and then he flicks his hand, as though slapping him but missing by a good metre, yet Allen still feels an impact of...  _something_ , and then his face his wet, liquid dripping down his chin and down his shirt. “What the  _hell_ !” he barks, wiping the water from his eyes with his hands.

“Hey, look at that, I made water out of thin air, it's a _fucking miracle_. I must be magic, or, I don't know, some kind of Apostle. Can we go yet?”

Allen huffs, wiping off his face with his sleeves, pausing only to glare at the man. He thinks carefully about it, finding that this strange, sharp man  _does_ have a point, crude as he put it. He looks around the tent, the few belongings he has strewn around the small space, and he sighs, resigning himself to whatever mess he has on board. “Fine,” he mutters eventually, “It's not like I'm trying to make a living here or anything. Can I at least pick up my paycheck before we leave, Mr. Fancy Magic Man?”

And he gets a crude middle finger before the man storms out.

 


	2. Beyond the Door

“I still can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

Kanda very nearly rolls his eyes, watching the trees and open hills roll past beyond the window of the train. “Well, believe it, because you're stuck with it now.”

Allen sniffs distastefully, averting his eyes to look around the train. “Do gods usually catch trains to get places?” he asks, genuinely curious but mostly trying to piss him off. If he's getting dragged around by magicians, he's going to get them back for it.

“I'm not a _god_ ,” he says, lifting his arm up to rest his chin in his hand. “Like I said, I'm an Apostle of God.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

“It means I'm about to punch you in the teeth.” Allen makes a small 'ugh' sound, and Kanda glances over to him briefly before returning his eyes to the window. “I guess we're like... demi-gods, or one step below that. We've got power, but not much of it. We can't just bloody teleport whenever we feel like it.”

“That explains the magic,” Allen muses, thinking back to the slap of water he'd received. “How do you become an Apostle? Are you born like that, or chosen, or does it develop over time?”

Kanda's face shifts, and Allen suddenly feels like he has somehow said the wrong thing. He doesn't quite make out what flickers across the older man's face, but it makes something churn in his gut, and he reminds himself not to ask that question again. “It's different for everybody,” he says eventually, somewhat absently. Allen wonders what happened to him to make him an Apostle, and figures he shouldn't ask.

“If I'm supposedly one of you,” he begins instead, “Does that mean I can do the things you do? With the materialisation and such.”

“No,” he says curtly, and Allen feels a little disappointed, but then he continues. “Each of us has different abilities. Mine, for instance, are mostly based around water. I don't know what you can do yet, so here's hoping it's actually fucking useful, or this is just going to be a waste of everybody's time.”

He turns that over in his head for a moment, looking down at his hand, remembering the mottled red flesh concealed beneath white gloves. He supposes these other Apostles will probably help him figure it out when they 'teach him how to fight', or so Kanda says. He hopes the others are nicer than the one he's currently stuck with. For now, he moves on, trying to get as much answered as he can. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“How old are you _really_?”

Kanda looks at him. “...Nineteen.”

“Oh. I was expecting you to be a lot older.”

“Tell me I look fucking thirty, I dare you.”

“No, no! I just meant, y'know... You'd kind of expect demi-demi-gods or whatever to be, like, hundreds of years or so, not-- Not _teenagers_.”

Kanda sighs, turning back away. “Not all of us are teenagers. It's only a few of us, really. Most are adults or old men. There is one who's a little over a hundred, but she's something of a special case. Now shut up for more than five minutes, I want to get some sleep before my life gets ruined any further.”

Allen huffs, but stays quiet, leaving Kanda to get his beauty sleep as he sits back and watches the world go by. It's almost surreal, and if it wasn't so long, he would have assumed he was dreaming. Just yesterday he was performing at a circus in Glasgow, and now he's suddenly on his way to 'somewhere near London' to fight in a war he knows almost nothing about against things he knows he hates. It's a lot to take in so abruptly, and Kanda isn't really making it any better with his curt responses and vague allusions and nasty remarks. Kanda himself is a strange man, even without the stuff he's been spouting. It's odd, he thinks, looking across the booth to where Kanda naps peacefully; for such a powerful being, he seems far too human.

He wakes up just before they get into London, drags himself from the train to the platform to a hired carriage and falls asleep again, leaving Allen on his own once more with only the muttered promise that they'd be there soon. He wonders if Kanda is purposefully setting out to make this trip awful as he occupies himself with counting the amount of trees and shrubs they pass by on the roadside. It takes four hours and more than two and a half thousand trees for them to reach a small town nestled in the countryside, Kanda rousing himself for the last ten minutes of the trip.

They step out of the carriage outside a small church, Allen keeping close behind as Kanda leads him around to an entrance at the back of the building, the space inside lit by a pair of torches. There is a single guard standing by the door, who gives Kanda a nod and Allen a curious glance as they pass, descending down a flight of stairs to a canal underneath, the air moist and stifling in his lungs. They step onto a gondola docked at the bottom of the stairs, Kanda taking the oar to silently push them down the canal. Allen suddenly begins to feel nervous, wondering what the people he's going to meet are like, what they'll think of him, why they want him there. The darkness seems so much thicker when he's nervous, and he tries desperately to swallow it.

“I'll only say this once,” Kanda begins suddenly; Allen jumps, and Kanda casts a curious glance down at him before returning to watching the canal stretch out before him. “Don't wander off, or you're likely to get lost, and nobody's going to look for you. I'm sure someone who cares more than me will give you a tour of anywhere you'd need to know. Don't backtalk, and do as you're told. This place will chew you up and spit you out within the first month, so I don't expect to see you around much.”

Allen frowns at him, dubiously cocking an eyebrow. “Thank you, Kanda. That's a great help, really makes me feel welcome,” he bites, but he puts the tips to mind; any information on this place has been hard to come by, so he'll take what he can get.

They stop at a small platform, tying the boat down before they step off, and Kanda leads him up the sole stairwell in the concrete. Allen notices a faded cross engraved in the wall by the entrance, and puts it to mind as they ascend, heading through a long tunnel at the top to find themselves in a large, open space, the halls breaking off in levels from what appears to be a central chamber, which descends even a few floors below them. Kanda spares no time for gawping, walking straight towards an elevator to the right, hardly waiting for Allen to step in beside him as he sends it up more floors than he cares to count. Allen does his best not to fidget throughout the slow ascent, Kanda stock still beside him.

They finally stop close to the top of the building, and the doors open to reveal an Oriental girl about Allen's age, her dark hair tied up either side of her head and a warm smile beaming across her face. “Kanda's back!” she exclaims as they step out, clapping her hands together. Her eyes fall on Allen and her expression falters a little, changing to curiosity as he gives her a meek smile. “This is him?”

Kanda scoffs. “Yeah. Tag,” he mutters, then turns to leave.

“Kanda!” the girl barks at him, and he stops, turning a little to glare at her. “Where are you going?”

“He's here, my job's done, I'm out of here.”

She huffs, but lets him go, watching him stride off through the hallways for a moment before turning back to Allen. “Sorry about him. He's always so _grouchy_ , but you learn to like him. Sort of. Anyway, welcome to the Order! My name is Lenalee, I'm another Apostle.”

She seems too young, too bright to be somebody who fights in a war. He couldn't imagine what she'd be like in battle. “Allen Walker,” he says simply, holding his hand out with a smile.

She takes it, shaking it firmly before stepping back. “You're much younger than I imagined you'd be,” she muses, looking him up and down. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Really? Gosh, you're the youngest Apostle we've got now. It was me for a while there, since I'm only seventeen. Come on, Allen, I'll show you around a little before we go meet with the supervisor.”

He can't say no, so he lets her lead him through the mess of stone hallways and open rooms, trying to keep track of it all as she explains each room, going through the private dorms, the grounds department, the cafeteria, working her way up to the briefing rooms and offices. She stops in front of one of the office rooms, the door a much more expensive wood than most of the others. He notices the same cross shape as downstairs carved into both doors, just above the handles.

“Well, here we are,” Lenalee says, looking at the doors as though they house some kind of strange beast. “This is the supervisor's office. I'll warn you now, he can be a little... eccentric, at times, but he's really a good guy. He'll tell you most of what you need to know.” Allen wonders what kind of warning that is as she opens the doors, and he steps through with her into a large, round room, the walls lined with bookshelves all the way to the roof, the contents of which appear to be mostly strewn about the floor. He tries his best not to step on anything. “Brother,” Lenalee calls, heading for the large desk that sits in the middle of the room, a man dressed in white slouched over it. “This is Allen. He's the one Hevlaska told us about.”

This catches the man's attention, and he looks up from his work, his eyes settling on Allen. “My word,” he breathes, then stands up and steps around the desk in one fluid motion, walking up to vigorously shake Allen's hand. “Please excuse the mess, we're in the middle of a routine clean. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, mister...?”

“Walker,” he replies, a little stricken with the man's exuberant attitude.

“Mr. Walker! Excellent. My name is Komui Lee, I'm the head of the European branch and the supervisor of the Order's grounds team. On behalf of the Order, I'd like to welcome you to our ranks.”

“Thank you, sir,” Allen replies evenly, “But I'm afraid I never agreed to join your ranks.”

He blinks. “Oh. Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, I just assumed that your presence meant that you had. My apologies! Would you consider joining us?”

“I'd prefer to know more about it before signing up,” he says, giving an apologetic smile.

Komui seems to take this as the right answer either way. “Right you are!” he beams, grinning at him. “I'd be happy to tell you all about us, but first I've got a few questions for you. You are an Apostle, aren't you?”

“So I've been told. I can fight the demons, if that's what you mean.”

“That's not all there is to being an Apostle, but I don't think we need to go into that. Do you have any family, a profession, people that know you well?”

It sounds like a weird question, but these people seem to know a bit about him already, so he wouldn't be surprised if they knew a little about his history, too. “I don't have any family, sir. I earn my keep by travelling with different circuses, so there aren't a lot of people that know me. Aside from Cross, I suppose, who took me in for a few years.”

“Hold on. Cross _Marian_?” He nods, almost shuddering at the name. “You know him?”

“Too well,” he says, then pauses. If they didn't even know his name, then how could they know Cross'? “Is he somehow involved in this?”

Komui frowns, thoughtful as he leans back against his desk. “He never told you about the Order?”

Cross being part of the Order seems almost too coincidental to him, but thinking back on the years he'd trained with him, it begins to make sense. “No, sir. I mean, all he ever even _alluded_ to was that he had superiors somewhere, but he was always so carefree that I never really believed him.”

“Yes, that sounds like him,” he muses, absently rubbing his chin. “Cross Marian is one of our Marshals. They rank very highly, even among the Apostles. They attain their rank through their unbridled strength. We have five of them now, but Marian has been missing for nearly six years. We mostly assumed him dead.”

Allen tries not to be a little hurt at the fact that his master had never told him any of this, consoling himself with the knowledge the Cross never tells anybody anything that they don't explicitly need to know. It's been a bane in his side for years. “I can assure you that he is very much alive,” he tells Komui, a little distastefully. “At least he was the last time I saw him, and he's not the kind to die so easily.”

He smiles at that, as though there's some joke that Allen unwittingly took part of. “No, I don't doubt that. When was the last time you saw him?”

“Nearly a year ago. He disappeared on me too, actually,” he adds, frowning at the memory of the last encounter he'd had with the man. He's lucky he doesn't have some kind of cranial trauma.

Komui gives a thoughtful hum, Lenalee looking a little confused where she stands beside Allen. “Well, I suppose we'll just have to explain it from scratch then,” he says eventually, pushing off from the desk to head towards the door. “Would you like to come with me? I have something I'd like to show you.”

Lenalee apologises and heads off to do some other work, leaving Allen alone as Komui leads him through the halls. The corridors all seem so empty to him, long and dark and built from cold stone, yet somehow they all feel so warm and lived in, a constant presence lingering in void spaces. Occasionally they come across people in the halls, guards at the doors and strangers dressed in white, and Allen sometimes catches their hushed comments as they pass, murmured words of his hair, his scar, _my goodness, he's so young, do you think he'll survive?_ He tries his best not to pay them heed, but the words linger in his mind, winding themselves between his concerns and confusion and question upon question he needs to make time to ask about later.

They take a different elevator to the one he had come up in, a platform rather than a box. Komui takes them down beyond the ground level, down into the basement, stopping only at the bottommost floor, a short corridor stretching out before them, lit either side by flickering torches leading up to wide double-doors carved in rich redwood and accented with silver, cross-shaped crests embossed in the wood of either door. “Your examination is first,” Komui explains, walking down the short hall to stop just before the doors, Allen close in tow. “Hebah's lovely, despite what you might first think.” He doesn't have long to dwell on what that vague comment means, watching with wide eyes as Komui grasps the handles and pushes the doors open.

Allen has to hold in a gasp as the doors swing open, his breath catching in his throat as he looks in. The chamber is vast, taking up perhaps this entire floor of the basement, empty and dark but somehow warm. There are symbols carved into the floor in what he recognises to be an ancient circle, known only to him through his master's use of what he thought was taboo, the lines somehow illuminated and glowing pale blue. In the centre of the chamber is a raised platform, a small moat of water around the base, pipes placed around the edges gently trickling into the main body. It is on this platform that a woman sits, bathed in light-- No, emanating light, coming from somewhere deep within her body and gently pulsing with her heartbeat. Her hair nearly covers her entirely, a brighter white than even his own, hints of blue light streaking through the thick strands that drape over her form and the platform, tendrils dipping in the water and sprawling across the room around them.

“Allen Walker,” she says, and he shudders; her voice is not one, but many, layered one upon another upon another, whispering like music in his ears. He feels like the tone of her voice is the very definition of patience, of peace, simple and vastly elegant. She lifts her arms up, opens them out, beckoning him toward her. “Come. Let me see you.”

He's hesitant, glancing furtively back at Komui for assurance. The man smiles, gently nudging him forward, and he finds himself carefully picking his way across the ground, nerves twisting in his gut as he gets closer. He stops just shy of the ring of water, now noticing the small rivulets that flow from its edges out towards the walls of the room. She's even more beautiful up close, her skin almost translucent, smooth and bare of any markings, each part of her body looking like it had been carefully carved and chosen to be perfect. He hears something move behind him, sliding gently across the ground, and he glances back to watch as the hair sprawled across the ground _moves_ , sliding like layers of silk across each other, and he stands totally in awe of it until he feels it curling around his wrists, his arms, constricting around his torso, panic rising in his throat as it tightens its hold and lifts, his feet coming clear of the ground.

“Calm, child,” she tells him, and he feels tendrils of hair brush along his cheek, along his jawline as he is brought closer to her. It is now that he notices that her size is all wrong; she is much larger than he's ever seen a human being _be_ , yet her proportions are all perfect, as though someone had picked up this woman and simply doubled her size. She places her hands gently on either side of his face once he's within reach, Allen breathing in an involuntary gasp at the feel of her skin, cool to the touch but exuding warmth, and his eyes shutter closed as she brings him closer, pressing her forehead to his. He can feel something inside him, worming its way through his body and his mind; it's disgusting, feeling something that doesn't belong slithering around in his veins, but he finds himself hard-pressed to fight against it, calmed by the quiet whispers in his mind, wordless voices at the edges of his thoughts.

“How is he, Hevlaska?” he hears Komui ask behind him, and then the contact is broken, his lungs gasping for a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. She sets him down gently, Allen finding his limbs strangely weak and shaky once she releases her hold on him, his knees buckling and forcing him to the ground.

“Strange,” she replies, almost thoughtful. “He is undoubtedly the one prophesied as the Destroyer, but there is something within him I cannot grasp. It is something... dark. There is indeed a curse within him.”

Komui hums thoughtfully, tapping his knuckle against his chin. “Indeed. I suppose there's nothing for it but to wait and see what happens, hm? He's probably the most interesting Apostle we've had yet.” He walks over to stand by Allen, offering a hand to help him up with a smile wider than he feels it should be allowed to be. “How are you feeling?”

He takes a few careful breaths, taking the offered hand and rising shakily to his feet. “Fine,” he replies, swallowing. “Did you know she was going to do that?”

“Of course. That's what the examination is.”

Allen has to close his eyes and count carefully up to five to reel in his sudden surge of anger. “Please warn me about these things _beforehand_ ,” he bites out, and Komui laughs, easy and carefree.

“Sorry, sorry! I've been here so long, it often slips my mind that this sort of thing is unusual. Thank you, Hebah,” he says, turning to wave to the woman on the platform. “We'll take good care of him.” She bows her head just slightly, silent indication, and Komui turns back to Allen. “Come on, let's get you acquainted with a room, shall we?” he proposes, and Allen nods, following back out of the chamber. _Room_ in his mind is currently synonymous with _bed_ , and he feels desperately in need of a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure what I wanted the Order to look like, so I decided to stick with the canon layout, just... a little closer to the ground, and fairly smaller, so it's just the building out in the countryside with a basement a few floors beneath and not that crazy big cliff. I feel like Hevlaska doesn't get enough love, so I tried to make her seem sort of beautiful and ethereal (especially considering her role in this AU), so I hope I came remotely close to that.


	3. The Sworn Path

They give Allen a couple of days to settle in, and he makes use of this time as best he can. He wanders through the halls, acquainting himself with the layout of the rooms and the feel of the building. Komui has still told him nothing more than he did that first day, leaving him in his room at the end of it, telling him he has free reign and then disappearing, and Allen hasn't been able to find him since. He suspects it must be some kind of ploy to get him attached to the place before telling him what will most likely make him want to leave. He wonders if the supervisor always has such convoluted ideas.

The cafeteria he takes to especially kindly, and the head chef seems to feel much the same about him. He becomes familiar with Jerry within the first day, and he loves it, able to prattle off any list of foods he feels like and they'll have it made to high standard. He doesn't let it get out of hand, out of fear he'd feel like he's taking advantage of the resources, but it's definitely a welcome change from having to work just for low-grade food, so he enjoys it while he can. It is in this cafeteria that Lenalee finds him one morning, bringing her breakfast over to sit across from him just as he's finishing up. “Hi Allen,” she says as she sits down, and he pauses, looking up at her.

“Oh, Lenalee!” He beams at her, covering his mouth as he swallows his mouthful. “Good morning.”

She smiles back at him, getting stuck into her breakfast. “Have you been settling in okay?”

He thinks about how to answer that around another mouthful, tapping the end of his fork against his chin. “Well, I guess so. I mean, I didn't exactly want to be 'settling in', but everyone here is really nice, and it's an alright place, so I'm not really complaining, you know? I'm just... wondering what I'm still doing here.”

She frowns a little, confused. “Komui hasn't come to talk to you yet?” she asks, and when he shakes his head, she seems somehow unsurprised. “Well, that's just like him, I suppose. I wish he wouldn't forget about important things like this. It's a good thing I know what his plans were for you.”

“His plans for me?” Allen asks, setting his fork down on the now bare plate.

“We can't just have you milling around, Allen, that's pretty pointless. Oh! What did Hevlaska tell you?”

He thinks back, remembering the strange encounter he'd had with the woman who apparently lives in the basement. “Nothing I didn't already know,” he replies, crossing his arms and leaning them on the table, “Though I still don't really understand this whole 'prophecy' thing. What exactly is Hevlaska, anyway?”

“People call her the Eyes of God. She has prophetic dreams, like when she saw you, and she knows a lot more than any of us. She seems really strange, but she's still human, believe it or not. She's one of the Apostles.”

“Huh. How many Apostles are there, exactly?” he asks, genuinely curious. He'd never heard of them before, but suddenly there seems to be quite a few.

She thinks about it, swirling her drink around. “Including Hevlaska and the five Marshals, there are nineteen of us. Twenty, actually, now that we've found you.” Oh. Allen thought there would have been a lot more than that, but he supposes that being people 'chosen by God', there probably wouldn't be too many. “Come on,” she then says, finishing her drink and standing up. “We should go find Kanda.”

“Kanda?” he repeats, a distasteful frown nearly breaking his mask. “Why?”

“Because he's going to train you,” she replies brightly, and he tries to imagine what exactly that entails as they walk, heading up towards the training floor. “He's usually in one of the practice rooms, or the meditation room on the ground floor. I hope he's here, otherwise he'll be impossible to find.”

Allen is silent as she leads him down the hallways of a floor he only remembers passing through briefly, during the time she had shown him around when he first got here. She pauses outside of one of the rooms in what seems to be a practised motion, raising her hand to knock, then pausing, deciding instead to simply open it. Her face lights up, and she briefly turns to Allen, placing a finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet as she steps aside, holding the door open and gesturing for him to look. He dubiously steps forward, peering in to find a large, open room, wide patterned windows filling the room with light, mats covering the entirety of the floor. It is in this room that Kanda stands, bare-foot and bare-chested aside from tightly wound bandages around the upper half of his torso, practising what appears to be kata, moving his sword in careful, precise motions. Allen feels like he has just witnessed something he wasn't supposed to, so he steps back, looking at Lenalee, who gives him a very obtuse wink before glancing back inside. “I wonder how long it will take him to--”

She cuts off with a startled yelp as a sword suddenly embeds itself in the wood of the doorframe, wobbling from the impact. Allen takes a moment to remind himself to _breathe_ , and Lenalee places a hand on his shoulder as she breaks down into a fit of giggles. “What are you doing?” Kanda asks flatly, entirely unimpressed with the display, arm still outstretched from the throw.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Lenalee breathes, wiping at her eyes as she stands up straight again. “Allen, I'm so sorry, but you should have seen your _face_.” Allen tries to think of what he possibly could have done to deserve this treatment, while Kanda simply frowns, walking over in long strides to pull his sword from halfway inside the wall as Lenalee composes herself. “Oh, man. Okay, believe it or not, we are here for a reason. Allen here needs to be trained, and you're the lucky guy who gets to do it. Congratulations!”

Kanda scoffs, flicking his sword to free it of any lingering splinters before he swings it up to rest the top side on his shoulder. Allen tries very hard not to notice the sheen of sweat on his bare skin. “Why do I have to train the runt?” he demands, flicking said runt a disdainful look.

“Be _cause_ , Kanda,” she says, placing a hand on her hip and giving him a very pointed look, “I have to go out on a mission soon, and you're the only other one here right now. Besides, you two are already acquainted; it should make things easier. I trust it won't be a problem?” She stares him down (up, really, he's a good head taller than her) for a moment longer, and then he eventually breaks, turning away and grumbling something under his breath. She beams. “Good. You can begin as soon as you're both ready. Good luck, Allen!”

He can't help looking mortified as she gives him a grin, turning to walk back down the hall with a bounce that gives him the impression she did this on purpose, and then his eyes move back to Kanda, who is still tracking her down the hall. “Well, isn't this just  _dandy_ ,” he bites, giving Allen a pointed look that he feels he really doesn't deserve. Kanda sighs, grabbing the sheath for his sword from where it sat against the wall just inside the door and sliding the blade back into it. “You better hope this is worth my time, kid. Be at the gate in fifteen minutes,” he says forcefully, and then he steps past, closing the door behind him before he strides off down the hall. Allen gets the sinking feeling that this is going to be a very long day.

He later finds himself wandering the streets of the small town near the Order with Kanda, for no really discernible reason. Kanda has said nothing since they left the Order, and, already knowing better than to challenge him, Allen mostly keeps quiet, observing the streets around them as they walk. It is only when they reach the edge of town that he begins to feel that he should be asking questions, but he continues to follow until the town is barely visible over the crest of the hill they had just come down. Kanda abruptly stops, casts a cursory glance around the vast green area around them, then promptly sits down, cross-legged in the grass.

It is now that Allen breaks, frowning down at him. “What are we doing out here?” he finally asks, wondering if Kanda is actually taking this 'training' seriously.

“Waiting,” is all he says, and something hot sparks in Allen's chest.

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to be struck by lightning,” he mutters, and Allen huffs, moving to sit down next to him. “For _demons_ , you dumbass.”

He freezes. “Wait, what?”

Kanda looks at him as though he had just said the sky was green, and he wonders how it's even physically possible to carry that much condescension in just one look. “We're here for training, not a field trip. We're going to sit here until the demons that you have so stupidly led here catch up, and then you're going to kill them.”

Allen struggles to find the words to convey how much he  _really really hates_ this idea, staring agape at Kanda until his mind actually catches up with him. “ _Why_ ?” he demands, suddenly furious at the method Kanda has chosen to take.

“It's like talking to a _wall_ ,” Kanda mumbles, moving a hand up to rub at his eyes, the bridge of his nose. “If you're training to fight demons, then the best way to learn is to _fight the bloody demons_. They're probably only class one anyway, it'll be like fish in a fucking barrel. Don't tell me you've never actually killed one?”

“Of course I have,” he bites back, his right hand absently moving to rest over his left. He's been fighting them for more than five years now; he'd have died if he didn't kill any, either by the demons hands or his master's. He grimaces at the thought. “I have,” he repeats, “But... Is this really what I'd need to do as an Apostle? Fight them all the time?”

“We've been over this. We are the only things stopping them from destroying the world; nothing but our power can kill them. Not like I _care_ , but if you have a job to do, then you better damn well do it.” He senses a sort of bitterness in Kanda's voice, hidden beneath the snappy tone he uses. He remembers the look on his face when he asked how someone became an Apostle, and wonders again what had happened to Kanda to get him dragged into this life. The way he talks about it, there's no way he entered it willingly.

He loses track of just how long they sit there, the wind picking up gently around them as he lapses into thought, mapping out the things he's learned in his head. As it is, he's had no real direction, working constantly just to get by and having to watch for the demons on top of that. If he joined the Order, he would have a real place to come back to, a support network and a source of income, and all he would really need to do is immerse himself in something he hates doing. He can stand it, if he has to. It's what Cross had, presumably, trained him for. He wonders if his wayward master knew that someone would come looking for him, if that's why he told Allen to go back to Britain. If he's part of the Order, he doubts it was merely coincidence. Cross always had a way of knowing things.

He snaps back to proper mindfulness as his eye throbs, his vision blurring and wavering out of focus before resettling, a pale grey haze in his left field of view. He knows the sensation all too well. “They're here,” he says, rising to his feet. Kanda knows to save questions for later, rising to his feet and drawing his sword with the gentle ring of steel in his ears. The air feels too still, too tense, the two of them frantically searching every direction for signs of them, but there is only wide green hills, vast and empty. Allen catches a glimpse of movement to his left, recognising the roiling dark clouds that have haunted him for so long. “Beneath us.”

There's a moment of pause, the shadows tunnelling around beneath them, and then they burst upwards, the two of them jumping out of the way as dirt sprays upwards, five of them spiralling up from the ground to rush towards them. Kanda runs his fingers along the length of his sword, the steel glowing pale blue in their wake, and then he leaps forward to meet them. Allen's hand itches in response to their presence, and this time he lets it go; he feels his flesh tear and morph, stretching out and hardening into sharp, white claws. He blocks one of the demons that had been heading towards him, grasping it in his hand and crushing it. The demon is still weak, barely able to hold a solid form, and it crumbles easily between his fingers. He hates every time he has to look at them, the dark clouds holding themselves in condensed forms, hazy tendrils flicking around the edges, misshapen faces gnashing their teeth as they charge. It doesn't take long to dispatch them, Kanda deftly slicing through them as Allen tears them apart.

“As I thought,” Kanda says afterwards, water spilling from his fingers as he flicks them over the corpse of one of the demons, watching it disintegrate as though it had been acid sprayed upon it. “Small fry.” Allen deactivates his arm and watches, eyes heavy with continence as the bond between the demon's forms disintegrates alongside its physical counterpart. A small smile forms itself on his face as the dark shadow of the soul pushes away, pieces of it falling apart and melting into nothing as it rises, a smile finally breaking its misshapen face before it is gone completely. His attention is brought back when Kanda nudges him in the hip with the sheath for his sword, and he meets the glare he's receiving with narked curiosity. “I was talking to you,” he bites, sliding his sword back into its sheath, and Allen realises he'd tuned him out. “What the hell are you doing, spacing out like that?”

Even Apostles can't see them, he supposes. He looks back down at where the demon had once been, nothing but a dead patch of grass to show it ever existed. “Do you ever feel bad for killing them?” he finds himself asking, flexing his hand. It always feels stiff after use, no matter how much he exercises it.

Kanda blinks, unsure what to think at first, but then he narrows his eyes, the corner of his mouth turning down in distaste. “Why would I?” he snaps back, beginning to head back to the town. Allen falls into step beside him. “They're demons, their sole purpose is to ruin lives. If you feel bad killing something like that, then I'm surprised you were even chosen as one of us.”

“It's not that,” he replies, trying to find the words he needs. “I mean, they weren't always demons, you know.”

Kanda shoots him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they _were_ human once. They still have souls, warped as they are.”

Kanda stops dead, and Allen pauses, surprised, turning to look back at him. His knuckles are white around the grip of his sword. “They  _what_ ?” he growls, and Allen fears he has said something wrong. He isn't sure how to answer, without blatantly repeating himself, so he just stares. Kanda finds the words on his own, his blue eyes sharp towards Allen's. “What do you mean they were human? How do you know?”

He's suddenly nervous, beginning to regret ever asking. “Demons are born from the souls of the dead and grieving,” he explains, remembering the explanation he had received all those years ago. “They're made when a soul is called back from the dead and possesses the body of the one who called them. The human souls are still attached, they just get bound to the demon and warped as it grows.”

Kanda doesn't move. He's so still that Allen isn't even sure he's breathing, staring unwaveringly at Allen. A long silence passes, the wind whispering in the grass around them, and then he finally speaks. “What. The  _fuck_ .”

Allen tries his best not to fidget under his gaze. “Did... Did you not know that?”

“No!” he yells, suddenly the angriest Allen has yet seen him. “No, I did not fucking know that. How do _you_ even know that, what kind of crazy fucking hell-monger are you? They should have known better when they found out you were cursed to the pits of fucking hell and back than to bring you here, you are _sick_.”

He is long since used to being called out on his curse, but hearing it now, from someone who has also fought the demons, it stings a little more than usual. He focuses on the confusion instead, trying to wrap his head around why Kanda would be so surprised by the fact; if Cross had known they were human, why wouldn't Kanda? Was it on a need-to-know basis, for those of higher importance? Surely they would have told the Apostles what they were actually up against if they knew. “I thought the Order of all people would have known,” he says, keeping his appearance unfazed by Kanda's outburst.

“We're going to see the supervisor,” he barks, stepping back into motion at twice the pace. Allen is lucky he's used to keeping pace with someone much taller than him, walking beside him as they head back up the hill. He's tempted to say more, to try and explain himself, but he doesn't have the words, and Kanda's demeanour does not invite it, so he stays silent until he is next asked to speak, nothing more shared between them during the trip through town and the canal back to the Order.

Kanda spares no bystanders on his charge up to the supervisor's office, and Allen finds that it's a good thing most of the people that work here seem to already know to move out of his way. He doesn't even knock on the heavy double doors, opting instead to push them open hard enough that they slam on their hinges and halfway close behind them as they walk in. “I need Komui,” he barks at the startled staff around them, half of which had dropped whatever papers they had been holding. One man points to the desk, the least phased by Kanda's attitude, and Allen watches with mortification as he grabs whoever was hiding behind the large stacks of paper on the surface of the desk by the shirt, hoisting them up with a few gasps and murmurs from the people around them. “Did you know he was batshit?” he grinds out, his teeth grit.

Komui acts as though this is a regular occurrence, reaching up to readjust his glasses. “Kanda, you're going to have to be a little more elaborate than that,” he says easily, patting Kanda's hands a little.

“He's _cursed_ , you moron! What the hell were you thinking?” Understanding fills most of the faces around them, and a few pairs of eyes snap to Allen, suspicion growing in their gazes. He holds back a sigh; he can't have just _one place_ that doesn't think he's an agent of Satan.

Komui furrows his brow in confusion, glancing over at Allen dubiously. “I don't think he's  _that_ cursed,” he states, which surprises Allen a little.

It only helps to infuriate Kanda even further. He turns a little to push Komui back against the bookshelves behind him, and Allen swears he actually hears him growl. He feels like now is a good time to intervene; he closes the gap in a few quick steps, grabbing one of Kanda's wrists and holding it tightly. “I think it's time to let him go,” he tells him, smiling in what he hopes Kanda will recognise as passive-aggresively.

His glare shifts to Allen, sharp and bold. “Let go of me,” he growls, putting as much malice into the tone as he can muster.

“Not until you put down the supervisor,” Allen chirps, tightening his hold. He can feel the muscles in Kanda's hand shift around his grip, his gaze unwavering, and then Kanda finally lets go, Komui dropping to the floor and managing to stay upright.

“Fine,” he spits, tearing his arm out of Allen's grasp as he turns. “Don't you dare talk to me again, or I _will_ kill you.” While Allen tries to figure out if he's serious (the answer seems to be a disappointing and ominous 'yes'), he storms back out, the doors still mostly open from when they had entered.

“Wow,” Komui says, dusting off his clothes. “I've never seen anyone actually get him to do something like that with that kind of force. To be fair, you pissed him off more than most people manage to, but still, kudos.” Allen returns his attention to the supervisor, who readjusts his hat and then fixes Allen with a curious gaze. “So what's all this about?”

He is suddenly lost for words, unsure of how exactly go about this. “Um, I may have said some things to him that seem to have upset him a little.”

“You don't say. What's this about your curse?”

“Oh, that. It, um.” He pauses, biting his lip a little as he thinks. “How much do you know about the demons?”

He perks up a little, not having expected the question, putting a knuckle thoughtfully against his chin. “Well, I'd like to say we know a fair bit, but there's still a lot we're missing. Why, do you want more information on them?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe another time. Do you know how they're born?”

There are a few murmurs around the room, and he notices Komui stiffen. “Pardon?” he says, and Allen tenses. There's a long pause before he moves to sit down at his desk, one of his assistants placing papers on his desk but staying there to listen. “I'm... afraid we don't, if I'm honest. All we know is that they are somehow related to death, so we've been assuming that they're souls raised from Hell, considering their motives and such.”

“You're close,” Allen tells him, and he looks up from his thoughts to the younger boy before him, wary but interested in the information. “They're souls of the recently departed, called back by a person who grieves for them, with the help of an intermediary.”

“An intermediary?” he repeats, the wariness steadily leaving his features.

He nods. “I'm not exactly positive, but... I'm pretty sure it's a man, whoever is in charge of the demons.”

“The earl!” Komui cries, bumping his fist into his palm. “Reever, take notes of all this.” The man who had paused by the desk immediately pulls a diary from his breast pocket, a pen soon following, and begins to jot things down in it. “Allen, pardon me for asking this, but how do you know all this?”

He sucks in a breath, trying to keep the memories out of his mind, pushing back that gloomy day in the graveyard. His mind flashes over parts of it, bits and pieces. His hand twitches at his side. “I can see them,” he says, not meeting Komui's eyes. “The souls of the demons. The curse allows me to sense them, and to see the souls attached to them.”

“It's all beginning to make sense,” he mutters, tapping a finger against the surface of the desk. “How exactly did you receive this curse, if I may ask?”

He grits his teeth. He'd known they were bound to ask that question eventually, but he is still reluctant to answer it, to bring up what he has been trying to lay to rest for so many years. They need to know, though, or he'll never gain whatever trust they might hold for him. “I nearly birthed a demon,” he says eventually, quietly so that only he, Komui and his assistant can hear it. “Just after my father died, I was approached by a man who told me I could call him back, and I did, but it wasn't... It was only half a demon, still raw, made from his soul.” He touches a hand absently to the scar on his face, brushes his fingers over the subtle ridge of it. “That was when I found out I could kill them. Whatever is in my arm activated, nearly killed him in one shot before he could possess me. I'm not sure why, but that was when he laid his curse on me. I've always been able to see the souls after that.”  _Even his_ , he thinks, remembering the first time he saw one of the deformed remnants of humanity.

There's a long silence that follows his confession, pregnant with endless responses either of them could be making, hanging thick in the air. Then Komui stands, placing his hands firmly on Allen's shoulders, and the younger man freezes, uncomfortable under the gaze set hard on his eyes. “Allen, I want you to know that you can be safe here,” he says quietly, his voice forceful but gentle. Allen stays frozen under his hands. “Yes, we send you out to fight demons, which is extremely dangerous, I know, but this is a  _home_ . The Order is a place Apostles can come back to, can call their own, can feel safe and welcome in and support each other. I want  _you_ to be safe.”

_Stay safe, Allen_ . The words ring in his head, reminiscent of what he'd been told so many years ago. This seems to be what Cross wanted him to do, and while he generally ignores everything that man wants on principle, he gets the feeling that this is important, maybe even to Cross himself. Maybe, like his master has told him, this is how he could do penance for what he did to his father.

Would Mana approve? Had he, in seeing the power Allen harboured, given the curse with purpose? Allen has promised him, so many times, that he would keep going, but until now he had never known exactly _where_ he would go. He thinks about Kanda, the haunted look in his eyes when Allen asked how he'd ended up here, the hatred he seems to harbour for it, and wonders if he is making the right choice, but then he remembers Lenalee, bright and vibrant and treating everybody as though they have always been close friends. Komui, treating him (very eccentrically) like a friend, wishing for his wellbeing amidst this mess. Jerry, chatting vibrantly with him while he cooks. The kind smiles he received from some of the grounds team members he passed in the halls.

“Alright,” he sighs, more to himself than to them. Komui blinks, stepping back. Allen takes a moment to steel himself before he meets his eyes. _This is what I need to do_ , he tells himself. “I'd like to join the Order.”

They all beam, and he feels like this is the right choice.

 


	4. Sunshaker

The following days are much more hectic than the first few, between filling out paperwork to formalise his application and getting recurrent measurements for a kind of uniform he will apparently be given (though he's never seen any other Apostles wearing uniform) and helping Komui file endless reports on what he knows about demons. The entire Order seems to be up in arms about it, finding out that demons were once humans. Some people have accused him of heresy, and while he has caught Komui personally scolding people for the accusations, Allen can still hear them. He's no stranger to whisperings and doubts, however, and this time his knowledge actually seems to be doing some good, so he finds it easy enough to ignore.

He hasn't seen Kanda since he stormed out of Komui's office, but he supposes that's just as well; he doesn't doubt that he would make good on the threat to his life, not with the way that Kanda had looked at him. It's a shame, since Kanda was one of the few people he's actually spoken to more than once and almost felt a sense of camaraderie for, but he feels like that may just be a passing dream now. He is justified in his hatred, and can think what he will. He has an atrocious temper anyway, Allen tells himself, in an attempt to console himself.

He trains whenever he's not busy with other things, working on refining his style before he is sent out on any actual missions. He doesn't know any one fighting style, most of his tactics involving playing dirty and using underhanded tricks (as growing up with Cross had unwillingly taught him), but he often uses that to his advantage. He hasn't been in nearly as many brawls since Cross left him, and he feels out of practice. At least working in circuses has given him constant exercise and tests of his reflexes, so it's only the motions and the force he needs to realign himself with.

He's on his way back to his room from the cafeteria early one morning when somebody calls his name, and he expects it to be a member of the grounds team, but when he turns he finds himself face to face with a man no older than twenty, short hair a dusty ginger and a spread of freckles over his nose. His expression lights up when Allen meets his gaze, one eye a vibrant green and the other covered by a patch, and Allen notices the silver cross on the breast of the man's short black jacket. “I was just looking for you,” he says brightly, walking up to stop just in front of him. “You are Allen, right?”

“Yes,” he replies, shifting on his feet to face him properly. “Am I needed for something?”

“You bet! You, my good man, have got your first mission,” he beams, and Allen blinks. He hadn't expected to be hearing that. “You'll be heading out with yours truly, you've got to pick up the briefing and your uniform from Komui's office and then meet me at the canal at eleven. Oh!” He pauses, holding out a hand. “My name's Lavi, by the way. It's nice to meet you.”

Allen isn't quite sure what to make of this man, glad that he's used to keeping up with fast speakers with the way that Lavi had prattled off. He notices a small mark on the inside of Lavi's wrist, a black tattoo in the shape of a cross. _Strange_ , he thinks, then reaches out to take the hand. “Likewise,” he says, giving him a smile.

Lavi shoots him a wide grin, then turns to head back down the hallway he'd just come down, walking backwards to shout back down the hall. “Just ask the supe if you need anything, yeah? I'll see you in a few hours!” he calls, gives a short wave, then ducks around the corner out of sight, leaving Allen to deal with the recoil of the red-haired tornado he'd just witnessed.

He figures he'll get things done sooner rather than later, so changes course to head up to Komui's office, a black folder and a package wrapped in brown paper with his name on it thrust at him the moment he enters with only a brief explanation as to the nature of the mission. He came at a busy time, it seems, as Komui keeps it brief. “Good luck,” the supervisor tells him as he leaves, and Allen feels he'll need it.

He returns to his room with his new load in hand, setting them on the bed beside him as he sits, opening the black folder first. On the first page is a summary of its contents, listing the destination, the involved parties (himself and Lavi, along with a few other names of key members of the grounds team he assumes he'll meet along the way), and an overview of why they are being deployed. A mass of strange occurrences in Turkey, it seems, equating to demon activity. Only small by the Order's standards, according to Komui, but he can't help feeling nervous about it.

He sets the folder aside and moves his attention to the carefully wrapped package before him, picking the strings open and unfolding the paper to reveal an item of black cloth, a silver medallion in the shape of a rose cross sitting polished and new on the front. A small slip of paper sits nestled in the folds of it, and he gingerly pulls it out, unfolding it to read the short message written in neat print.

_To Allen Walker; I'm glad to hear you're joining our ranks, though it is unfortunate that a man so young as yourself has been dragged into this. I hope we can grow to know each other over the time you spend here. Let me know if you have any problems with the uniform. Yours, Johnny Gill._

He remembers Johnny, the kind young man who had taken his measurements and worked in Komui's unit. He reminds himself that he'll have to go and thank him later, making a mental note of it as he stands up and picks up the coat, letting it unfold in his hands as he holds it up to look at it. It's expertly crafted and more expensive than anything he's ever owned in his life, the trimmings and buttons made of silver and gleaming in the dim light of his room. Each carved and polished button has his name engraved in the back, and he feels like he finally owns something important, something that's  _his_ . It is heavy and warm around his shoulders as he slips it on, a comforting weight and the perfect size. He needs to do more than simply thank Johnny for this.

He remembers Cross with a similar jacket, trimmed with gold instead of silver, and once again realises that it's a stark sign of the Order. He had always wondered why his master was so attached to that coat; whenever his clothes got worn or dirty he would simply replace them with new ones, but the coat he always kept, getting it cleaned or mended whenever the need arose. Allen had never had the gall to ask why, but he feels there is no need for that now. He just wishes he had been informed sooner of all the things he has had to stumble upon along the way.

Lavi is only a few minutes behind him once he heads down to the canal, reading over the specifics of the mission as he waits by the boat, interrupted when his partner feels the need to announce himself quite loudly. “You're early!” he says as he steps out of the walkway, grinning at Allen as he steps up to work on untying the boat from the moor.

Allen returns the briefing to a pocket on the inside of his coat, watching Lavi and trying to think of if there's anything he could be doing to help. “It's better than being late,” he replies, stepping gently into the boat to take up the oar just as Lavi finishes with the rope.

“I'll have you know that we are at exactly eleven hours and eight seconds... now, so I was technically a little early myself. You ready to go?”

“As ever.”

He smiles and tosses the rope to the inside of the boat, pushing them away from the landing as he steps over to sit down in front of Allen. “You'll be fine, I'm sure. This one should be a cinch, and it gives us a chance to get to know each other! Tell me about yourself, Allen, I am all ears.”

He's not sure where to start; it's been a long time since anyone has asked him that in such a general way, and there are so many things he's not sure would be good to share, among those he refuses to. “Um, well, I'm originally from London?” he begins, focusing on keeping the boat in line as he thinks. “I travelled a lot though, and I guess I still will.”

Lavi sticks out his tongue and makes an unattractive noise, leaning back where he sits. “That's boring! Tell me all the fun stuff. Is it true what they're saying about the demons being previously human?”

Allen suddenly realises that this is going to be a long trip.

He's exhausted by the time they reach Turkey, Lavi having drawn all he possibly could out of Allen before simply choosing to talk about himself, prattling on about his recent trips through the Orient and the Middle East and anything else that comes to mind over the couple of days it takes to get there. He becomes mostly business once they get within an hour's walk of the town they'd been sent to, getting more thoughtful the closer they get. “I probably should have asked this earlier,” he says once the town comes into view, miles off on the horizon, “But how well can you actually fight?”

He remembers the first (and likely last) battle he had fought with Kanda, the countless times he had been forced to even before that. “Moderately well, I hope,” he tells Lavi, stretching his hand by his side. “How many are we expecting?”

“It's hard to say,” he sighs, lifting his arms to stretch his back. “From what the report said, I'd guess maybe ten class one's, possibly a second class or two. We won't know until we get there.”

Allen hums thoughtfully in response, watching the town as they slowly get closer to it. “How do the classes work, exactly?”

He brightens up, jumping at the chance to share his knowledge. “Well, unlike what it sounds like, they don't level up in stages. It's more of a gradual thing, evolving slowly with each kill they make, so we class them basically on how big they are. Some grow much more suddenly than others, if they're in sticky situations, but generally that's pretty rare.”

“How can you tell though? If it's gradual, there wouldn't be any distinct marker would there?”

“How do you make the distinction between a large pond and a small lake?” he asks, and Allen figures he has a point. “You just learn these things over time. Class one's, as you know, are pretty weak, and aren't exactly smart. Two's are a bit stronger, depending on how far they are along their class they are, and are generally a fair bit smarter, showing a sense of self unlike the mindless killings of one's. Class three's we haven't seen much of, but they're known to be way stronger than class two's, and much smarter to boot. Think of them in terms of human ageing; one's are like toddlers, they're only just learning how to walk, two's are like adolescents, and three's are pretty much adults.”

He's heard something similar from Cross, he thinks, though not quite as specific as that, as is usually his style. He thinks it all over for a moment, making sure to put it all carefully to mind before he asks anything else. “Is three the highest they get?” he asks then, and Lavi just shrugs.

“I'd say so. Three's in their later stages are pretty damn formidable, so I guess that's about as high as they get.” There's a brief silence, Allen wondering if he'll ever run into a class three and just how strong they might be, and then Lavi catches his attention again. “Hey, Allen, want to see something cool?”

He looks up, wary of the mischievous smile on Lavi's face. “Um, alright?” he replies dubiously, and Lavi stops, pulling something from a holster on his thigh. What looks like a toy hammer, Allen realises, and wonders how that's even remotely cool, but his thoughts cut off as it grows bigger, the head of it burying itself in the dirt. Lavi moves down to sit on the thin shaft of it, patting the space next to him. “You want me to sit on that?” Allen asks, and Lavi grins.

“Come on,” he coos, in a tone that Allen _knows_ means he's going to regret giving in. “It'll be fine, I promise. It's safer than riding a horse, and damn well faster.”

“Faster?” he asks, wondering just what exactly is going to happen. He is only given a waggled eyebrow in response, and Allen reluctantly caves, stepping over to sit carefully on the shaft behind him. “Okay, so now what?”

“You hold on tight!” Lavi beams, and then they're shooting through the air, Allen very nearly falling off before he has time to grasp the most solid thing near him, which happens to be Lavi's waist.

“Are you crazy?” he cries, watching the path zip by beneath them. Lavi just cackles, his shoulders shaking with mirth; Allen is very quickly regretting ever trusting him. “You are, you're off your bloody rocker. If I die because of your crazy hammer ride, I am going to become a ghost and haunt you forever.”

“Oh, lighten up, Al!” he says, voice raised over the whistle of the wind as it passes them by. “It's fine, see? So long as you don't let go, nothing's gonna happen.”

“And what if I let go?”

“At this speed? You might break a limb or two, as long as you don't land on that pretty little noggin of yours.”

He considers screaming a little, but decides to take Lavi's advice, trying to calm himself down and look past the heavy fear that something awful is going to happen. It's definitely a lot faster than walking, which he supposes is a bonus, and now that he's actually focusing on the mystery of it, he tries to figure out what is actually going on. “How does this work?” he asks, moving his eyes from the ground tearing past beneath them to the town growing steadily closer on the horizon.

“Magic,” Lavi says, and Allen promptly jabs him in the ribs. “It is though! Well, sort of. It's Apostle magic, which still counts.”

“Kanda seemed to hate calling it magic.”

“Kanda has a permanent stick up his ass.”

“So I'm not the only one he's like that with,” he mutters, remembering how sour Kanda had been even before he flipped out and hated Allen for good. He wonders if Kanda will hate him forever, but pushes that out of his mind to focus on the things at hand. “So, is this your ability?”

“One of them. I can change the sizes and proportions of anything I want, really, but usually that wears me out something nasty, so I only ever do it in a pinch. This baby, though,” he says, patting the polished stem of the hammer, “Is made of some special stuff, so it's a _lot_ easier to use. She's gotten me out of more than my fair share of tight spots, let me tell you.”

He wonders how many other Apostles have weapons specially made for them, thinking of Kanda's sword, Cross' gun. Why his weapon had to be part of his arm he doesn't know, but he begins to hate it even more with the knowledge that most of them have external weapons. “What else can you do, if I can ask?”

Lavi grins, and Allen notices that they're slowing down. “I'll show you when we're actually fighting,” he says, glancing back to wink at him, and then they stop moving completely, the two of them dropping to the ground. They're still a twenty minute walk from town, but it definitely beats the hour or two it would have otherwise taken them. “We'll walk from here,” he explains, and Allen watches as the other end of the hammer is pulled towards them from where it sits on the horizon as he shortens the shaft again, shrinking the hammer afterwards to replace it in his holster. “Not going to make a good impression if a couple of weird guys go zooming through town on a magic stick, y'know?”

He knows; just walking through towns with the way he looks often leaves a bad impression, and he'd do all he could not to make it worse. The town is only small when they finally reach it, which he hopes will make it that much easier to find the demons. They find an inn on the main street to leave their things and come back to later, then set out to explore the town, wandering through the streets and observing the people around them. Lavi is surprised but mostly intrigued when Allen's eye reacts to the demons, and he picks out nine of them on their round before they end up back at the main street, noticing that a couple of them have followed them back.

“We'll draw them out of town,” Lavi says, tapping his hand absently against his thigh, and it is only now that Allen remembers that's where his weapon sits. “It won't do any good fighting here, and maybe we'll catch the eye of some others on our way out.”

This is as good a plan as any, so they begin to make their way to the outskirts of town, heading out into the countryside to the west of it; sure enough, five or six people follow them out, still about a hundred yards away, but they'll quickly catch up. Lavi deems it far enough from town, so they stop, keeping their backs turned to the demons in the hopes that they'll think they haven't been noticed. “You ready for this?” he asks Allen, a warm smile on his face.

Allen gives a small huff, taking the glove off his left hand and putting it in his pocket, wary of Lavi's curious eye. “Definitely,” he replies, and Lavi's smile widens.

He claps his hands together, which Allen thinks is strange considering it doesn't make it any easier to grab his weapon, but he just winks, subtly shifting his stance. “On three, then,” he says, and Allen nods. He counts one, two, then on the third count he whirls around, and everything is suddenly on fire. Allen is struck into awe for a moment, watching the flames spill from Lavi's fingers as he dances on the turn, catching the demons off guard and setting most of them alight. Their screams ring in his ears as Lavi uses this time to draw his hammer, bringing it up to a formidable size and swinging it in a heavy arc right into the side of half of them, and then Allen remembers that he's supposed to be helping.

He activates his weapon, trying his best to avoid the flames as he swings at the few that managed to dodge it, grabbing one in his palm and crushing it. He doesn't linger on it as it disintegrates, jumping out of the way of Lavi's hammer as it swings past him and launching himself at another. He stops to catch his breath once the last of them are gone, his hand relaxing back into its natural state, and then he turns on Lavi, who is watching him with an expectant grin, hammer slung over his shoulder. “You could have warned me about the bloody  _fire_ !” he snaps, and gets a chuckle in return. “I had no idea what to expect, and you just throw fire like it's nothing out of nowhere. Good Lord, what if I'd been caught in it?”

“It's alright,” he assures, stepping closer to Allen as he replaces his hammer at his side. “It doesn't hurt people, not unless I want it to. See, let me show--”

“No.”

“Come on Al, don't you trust me?”

“Not after the amount of times you've done something dangerous today, no.”

“But I'm _always_ dangerous. Look, I promise it doesn't hurt. Just let me show you, alright?” Allen sighs, watching Lavi's face carefully as he thinks. While he has been awfully spontaneous and has shown an apparent disregard to their safety, Allen feels that despite it all, he means well, and he hasn't been injured yet. He rolls his eyes, then holds out his hand, and Lavi's face lights up. “Alright!” he beams, then takes Allen's hand, holding it gently between both of his. “Just relax, and watch.”

He does, focusing his attention on the palm of his hand and Lavi's own around it, watching as a small fire grows in the space above his palm. Lavi moves his hands away, hovering them either side, and the fire grows bigger with the movement, encasing Allen's hand. He expects to feel pain, to feel the flames burning the skin off his hand, but it only feels as warm as the sun on his back and he finds it strangely pleasant. Lavi flicks his hands upwards and it dissipates, leaving only smoke that trails up into the air. “Alright, I've got to admit,” he says, flexing his hand and finding that it still feels much the same, “That is kind of cool.”

“I told you,” Lavi chides, gently nudging him, and Allen just sticks his tongue out at him as he grabs his glove from his pocket to place it back over his hand. “So what now?”

“There are still some in town,” Allen says, beginning to head back towards it. “It's getting late, so we can either track them down now or wait until tomorrow.”

Lavi scoffs. “Screw that,” he mutters, stretching his arms and falling into step beside him. “We'll wait until tomorrow, we've been on the road all day. I could do with some dinner.”

Allen couldn't agree more, so they head back to the inn in town to grab something to eat, chatting idly over their meals before they head upstairs to their room to sleep. It isn't particularly late by the time they get to bed, but as Lavi had said, they'd been travelling all day and Allen feels more tired than usual, despite being used to constant travel. The circuses he partook in only ever travelled for a day or two at a time, though, unlike the several he and Lavi had just spent getting here, and his weariness makes sense as he closes his eyes and slowly nods off.

He is suddenly woken sometime during the night by a sharp pain in his eye, rolling out of bed just as his vision blurs and loses some of its colour; even in his groggy state he understands what it means, and immediately activates his arm, standing in the middle of the room as he tries to figure out where they are. “Lavi,” he hisses, and he gets a delayed grunt in response. “Lavi, get up. They're here.”

This gets him moving, a couple of murmured curses slipping from his mouth as he jumps out of bed with his hammer in hand, having been much more prepared than Allen had expected, though he supposes that doing this all the time would make him cautious. He looks around the room with a tired green eye, ears pricked for any signs of them, then gives a heavy sigh. “Allen, what the heck, there aren't even any--”

The window behind him crashes inwards, throwing glass and splinters of wood through the room, and they both throw themselves to the floor in practised motions as a demon smashes through above them, its outstretched claws meeting the opposite wall instead of the people it had been aiming for, and it snarls, whirling around with a gnashing of teeth just as Lavi swings his hammer and slams it back into the wall, hard enough that its body crumbles under the force and it slumps to the floor, already beginning to disintegrate. A class one, Allen thinks, though very high along its class; it can't have been the only one.

His fears are realised when something is shot through the gaping hole in the wall where the window had been, what looks like an animal's spines sticking an inch deep in the wood with sharp  _thunk_ s. One of them catches Lavi's forearm before he can pull himself out of the way, and Allen knows they need to get out, they don't have enough space to manoeuvre in this room. He waits for the attack to stop then launches himself out of the gap in the wall, cushioning his landing with his left hand, and Lavi is not far behind, extending his weapon to bring himself down to the ground. The demon that had fired at them sits on the roof across from the inn, perched like some kind of bizarre, misshapen hedgehog, countless spines protruding from its back and along its forearms, its teeth bared as it snarls at them before it leaps off the roof and onto the wall of the inn, launching itself from there towards where Allen stands on the ground.

He brings his hand up just as it gets close enough, knocking it to the side and into the wall of one of the buildings. Lavi begins to step forward to help, but another class two bursts from the ground behind him, barely able to dodge the teeth that almost sink into his shoulder. Lavi can hold is own, Allen thinks to himself, and focuses his attention on the one before him, ducking and rolling out of the way as spines shoot forth from where it had been buried in the wall. It screeches as it launches itself at him again, his claws closing around its form and trying to crush it, but it wriggles out of his grasp and bounds off down the street, stopping to look back and hiss at him. He glances back as the street lights up behind him, the demon facing Lavi screaming as its eyes boil from their sockets, then charges after the one that had run, cursing as it leaps from the ground to cling to the wall of a building, its claws digging into the surface as it crawls across the structures like a spider.

Allen begins to chase after it but skids to a stop as a third one bursts from the ground in front of him, a hot flash of pain in his shoulder as it swings and knocks him down, its claws breaking the skin. He rolls back to his feet and ducks around its next attack, more focused on the one that had gotten away; he's lost track of it, but he is quickly made aware of its whereabouts as it launches down from a rooftop towards him, and he barely throws himself out of the way in time, swinging his arm around to dig his claws deep into its flesh, its soul twisting and writhing above it as it dies. He immediately swivels back around to face the other one, which had moved to perch on top of one of the roofs, its eyes set curiously on him. “It's you,” the demon says, watching him with misshapen grey orbs. “You are the one that bears the curse. The Master must be told.”

All he can think is  _shit_ , knowing full well what happens once demons find out about it; he has to kill this one before it has the chance to spread the news, and a quick glance to his side proves that he is on his own to do so. He uses his hand to launch himself up towards the rooftop, grasping for the demon as it jumps out of his reach, bounding across the rooftops, and he launches into a sprint after it, but it's too fast, too agile, he can't keep up. This close to the edge of town he soon runs out of buildings, and is forced to pause as he brings himself to the ground, the demon charging off across the plains beyond, and he reluctantly lets it go, his eye tracking the slight luminescence of its soul as his lungs gasp for breath. He has to return to Lavi, he remembers, and takes a deep breath before running back through the town to where he had left him, returning just as a pillar of fire illuminates the street and trails off into the sky, leaving only wafting smoke and Lavi standing alone in the street, hammer clasped in one hand and resting on the ground. “Are you alright?” Allen asks as he steps up behind him, giving the area a cursory glance to make sure there aren't any more demons around.

Lavi sighs, shrinking his weapon back down as Allen deactivates his own. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the dirt off his clothes as he steps around to face Allen, wincing at the wound in his arm. “I'll patch up later. Where did you go running off to?”

“One of them got away,” he explains, looking down at his own dust-ridden clothes with a frown. “Bloody fast, that thing.”

He hums as he thinks, Allen following him as he begins to head back through the town. “I guess we should wait around for a little while then,” he suggests, relaxed as ever. “We might have missed some here, and that one will probably come back at some point.”

“It won't.”

Lavi pauses at his sudden remark, a little confused. “How do you figure?”

He takes a deep breath as he thinks about how best to answer, and figures he'll just give it to him straight. Lavi doesn't seem like the kind of person to make a fuss of things. “It knows who I am,” he begins, remembering what it said, “And from the sounds of it, it's likely that it's going to tell the Earl, or somebody else it works for. They're going to try and find me.”

He expects some kind of serious response, but Lavi just gives a low whistle, that smile everpresent on his face. “I guess you're something of a celebrity, huh?” he says easily, and Allen feels that maybe he isn't taking this seriously enough.

“Lavi, I'm going to need to leave the Order, at least for a little while. It's not safe.”

“Hogwash, you only just joined. Not to mention that you're Cross' disciple, and he's something of a celebrity himself. The Order is probably the safest place for you, you know. We know what we're doing.” He pauses at Allen's dubious face, giving him a gentle nudge in the side. “Think about it; we wouldn't have survived this long if we didn't know how to protect our own, yeah? It'll be safer than wandering off on your own, especially if you have the freaking Earl after you. Show a little faith, hm?”

Allen looks at him, tries to read the earnest look on his face, the easy smile, and reluctantly lets himself give in. It probably would be safer among others who can fight, and there's no way of telling that they're going to actually hunt him down, even if that is wishful thinking on his part. All he can really hope for is that the repercussions will not be as bad as he is expecting, and that Lavi's plea for trust is not unfounded. “I suppose you're right,” he sighs, watching his hands as he absently brings them up to massage the muscles of his left. “I don't want to put any of you in danger, though.”

Lavi nudges him again, hard enough that his step falters and he has to right himself before glaring at him. “You're a strange guy, Allen,” he says brightly, as if he didn't know that already, “But I like you. Why don't you talk to Komui about it, I'm sure he'd be supportive of you staying. Most of the Order already likes you.”

“You think so?”

“Dude, you're the talk of the town, I know so.” He pouts as he thinks about what kinds of things people could be saying about him, having figured it would likely just be the usual slander, then sets that aside to think about in his own time.

“I guess I'll hang around and see what happens,” he mutters as they step through the door to the inn, realising that it doesn't feel like as bad an idea as his mind is trying to make it out to be.

“'Atta boy. Now come on, I want to get some more sleep before we leave tomorrow, I am wiped,” he says with his average amount of enthusiasm, and bounds up the stairs before him, Allen following quietly behind.

There isn't any word of other demons showing up by the time they've done a sweep of the town and headed for the train station the next morning, so they deem it 'mission complete' (though Allen feels that it is dubiously so) and begin to make their way back to England, beginning with trains back through Europe. It's mostly just one train ride after another, the two of them only stepping out into towns to walk through the station to their next one, but around the middle of the day there is a two-and-a-half hour delay with one of their connecting trains, and they decide that this is ample opportunity to stop for lunch.

They find a pub not far from the station that sells what Allen deems an 'adequate amount of food', which he then proceeds to eat half of while Lavi watches in horror over his own meal, and they sit and talk afterwards, milling about as they wait for their next train. Lavi pauses mid-sentence at one point and looks over at the bar, his eyes narrowing, and Allen tries to figure out what caught his attention, following his gaze to where the barkeeper is talking with one of their patrons. “Interesting,” he murmurs, then, “I'll be back,” and gets up to wander over to the bar, striking up conversation with them. Allen sighs, leaning forward on the table, and wonders just what exactly it is that Lavi found interesting.

“Four kind,” he hears someone say far to his left, followed by a cry of despair, and his eyes are drawn to a table in the back corner around which four men and a child sit with a deck of cards spread on the table between them. He glances back at Lavi, who is still engrossed in talking to the barkeeper, so he figures his partner wouldn't mind and makes his way over to the table just as the man who had been playing gets up and leaves in a rather sorry state. The remaining men at the table catch Allen's curious eye, the one who had inadvertently caught his attention speaking up to him now. “What do you want, little boy?” he says, eyes a deep curious brown behind his thick glasses, shuffling the cards in his hands. “This isn't a place for kids.”

Ironic, he thinks, considering the kid sitting just behind them and watching, but he feels he has no need to mention it. “I'd like a game,” he says instead, sitting down in the recently vacated chair, and the three of them look at each other in surprise.

They seem to agree on letting him in, the man in the middle setting the cards down on the table. “What are you willing to wager?” he asks evenly,

Oh, crap, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He doesn't currently have any money on him, and he doesn't carry much else of value, unless... “My coat,” he says, linking his hands and pushing them forward to crack his knuckles. “The trimmings and ornaments are all made of silver, and it's quite a rare item. I'm sure it'll be worth your while. If you win, that is.”

The man in the glasses laughs, his cigarette nearly falling from his mouth. “You're sharp, kid. I like that. Before we begin, how about introductions, hmm? You can call me Mikk.”

“Allen,” he replies in kind, giving him a smile. Mikk grins, then deals them both a hand.

Poker is perhaps the only useful thing he has ever learnt from Cross, and he is glad he still finds a use for it now. It is not as important as it used to be with the income that the Order now provides him with, but it has become a habit too long in the making for him to give it up simply because he no longer needs it. He remembers the day that Cross had sat him down and taught him how to play, showed him a few key tricks, and he had practised with Maria for hours even long after Cross had drunk too much and fallen asleep. He uses those same tricks now, years down the track, and as he sets down another winning hand he can't help but smile as Mikk throws his cards down at the table with a profound curse. “That's it,” he cries, holding his hands up, “Take what you want, I've got nothing left.”

Perhaps he has gone too far, Allen thinks, looking at the man before him now bearing nothing but his glasses, his underwear and his cigarette, his friends muttering in his ear and looking at Allen with mild horror. He flicks through the deck of cards in his hands as he thinks, then jumps as someone puts a hand on his shoulder. “Here you are, Allen,” Lavi says, leaning over to look at the cards still spread on the table. “I... didn't know you played poker. I didn't know you were  _good_ at poker,” he adds, his eyes moving up to the very disgruntled and mostly naked Mikk.

“The more you know,” Allen replies as he sets the cards down on the table and stands, taking only the coat he had draped over the chair and his own case of belongings with him. “You can have your things back,” he tells Mikk, whose eyes snap to him in surprise. “I was really only in it for the game. It's been fun,” he says, waving to them with a smile before he and Lavi head out of the bar and stop in the street beyond. “So what were you talking about with the barkeeper?” he asks, slipping his coat back on.

“Well, as it sounded like, demons have been in the area,” he says, pulling his bandana down to run his fingers through the knots in his hair. “Heading west, by the sounds of things, which works out well considering we're going that way anyway. They killed a few people here last night, which is why people have been talking about it.”

Allen hums in thought, readjusting his gloves and casting an eye around the street. “I guess there's nothing for it but to try and track them down on our way,” he mulls, glancing over at Lavi. “We might as well head back to the station in the meantime, it's been nearly two--”

“Allen!” someone calls behind them, and they both turn as Mikk steps out of the pub, having hurriedly replaced most of his clothing. “Glad I caught you before you left,” he says as he walks up to them, giving Lavi a nod before focusing on Allen, holding something out to him. “It wasn't right, you walking away from that game with nothing, so here. This should make us even.”

His eyes move down to the item in Mikk's hands, recognising it as the deck of cards they had just played with, neatly bound together with string. He reaches up and takes it, turning it over to find the joker sitting on top of the deck. “Are you sure?” he asks, looking back up at Mikk. “I mean, it's a really nice deck, and you don't really need to--”

“Nonsense!” he cuts in, grinning wide at him. “You deserve it. You can give me another game if we ever run into each other again, yeah?”

He doubts the likelihood of that happening, but Mikk had been a bit of a challenge for him, and he would rather like another round if the chance ever arose. “I'd be happy to,” he replies, and Mikk smiles, patting him on the shoulder before heading back into the pub with a wave.

Lavi watches the whole exchange in silence, and the moment that Mikk his gone he casts a sly grin down at Allen. “Somebody made a friend,” he sings, and Allen gives him an elbow to the ribs.

“Respect for the game, Lavi,” he mutters, slipping the deck into a pocket on the inside of his coat. “Come on, I don't want to miss the train.”

“But it won't come for another half hour,” Lavi whines, but follows along next to him, quick to change the subject to the cute girl he'd just had a brief chat with after he was done with the bartender. Allen makes a point of ignoring him and wonders if the whole trip back will be the same as the one here.

 


	5. Forward, then Back

Months pass by him at the Order before Allen truly realises just how long it has been. Most of his time is spent travelling, a vast majority of those months spent on trains and boats and carriages and on foot between towns and countries, and he has had very little down time at the Order itself, often finding himself training whenever he finds himself with nothing to do. His arm often feels weak from the sudden increase in his use of its abilities, but he can feel it growing stronger, able to control it much better than he used to. He has tried many times to figure out why he had so hated fighting the demons, and always comes up short of any answer that doesn't seem petty. He has only gained from defeating them, able to give his weapon the exercise it has apparently needed while ridding the world of the creatures that plague it, freeing the souls bound to them in the process. He is doing good now, and berates himself for not accepting it sooner.

He is called into Komui's office late one night, which he finds a little strange. He has been called in for many missions over his time here, but it has always been during hours when people would actually be awake; for him to be summoned now he suspects it must be some kind of emergency. He's not wrong as he steps into the supervisor's office and finds most of the staff engrossed in some kind of research or agitated phone calls, Komui himself poring over the papers scattered across his desk and the maps hanging from the shelves behind him. “Ah, Allen,” he says, sounding a little surprised as Allen stops just in front of his desk. “I hope we didn't wake you, bringing you here.”

“No, sir,” Allen replies, absently wondering if it's later than he'd thought. “Is... there something the matter?”

Komui sighs, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. The fatigue weighs heavy in his features. “You could say that. I'm sorry, I know you only got back yesterday, but I need to send you out toDenmark. You leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” He pauses, thinks it over for a moment as he tries to figure out what's going on. “That's fine, but what exactly is it that's happening in Denmark?”

“You'll get your actual report sometime between now and when you leave, I'm sure, things are just a little hectic right now. There's been a huge spike in demon activity around a town in the south, with apparently no discernible reasoning behind it, and we need to get Apostles there fast. You and Kanda are both going.”

Something drops in his gut at the sound of Kanda's name in that sentence, almost scared of what's going to happen if Kanda is forced to be stuck with him. “I-I'm sorry, sir,” he begins cautiously, “But, um. I'm not sure if you remember, but Kanda doesn't exactly like me, I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

“I know, Allen, and I'm sorry for sticking you with him, but you're the only ones we have available right now,” Komui tells him, sinking down into his desk chair as someone hands him a collection of papers. “And Kanda is one of our strongest, next to the Marshals; it's better we send him, considering their tactic.”

“Their tactic?”

“This level of demon activity in such a small area is unprecedented. It feels as though they're trying to draw our attention on purpose, to lure us out. One of our team members was killed this morning, and two more just an hour or so ago. It reeks of a trap. I'm loathe to send any of you, for fear we're walking right into it, but people are dying and will likely only continue to do so.”

“I understand,” Allen says, and Komui looks at him. “It wouldn't be the first trap I've walked into on purpose, at least. Kanda and I will handle it.”

Komui smiles a little, showing a little relief through his fatigue. “Thank you,” he says, and Allen hopes that he can actually stay true to his words.

He finds the briefing placed outside his door when he wakes just before sunrise the next morning, along with a small earpiece and a brief, messy note to go with it, explaining that it is for short-distance communication. He places it on his left ear, unfamiliar with the weight it carries, and picks up the briefing as he heads down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat before they leave, reading through it over his meal. It doesn't really explain much more than he had gathered from Komui last night, but it does so in much more detail, and perusing the specifics makes him a little more nervous about the nature of it.

“So I hear you're going on a mission with Yū,” someone says in front of him, and he looks up to be met with what is fast becoming a familiar smile.

“Oh, Lavi,” he replies, setting the briefing down on the table as Lavi slides into the seat across the table from him. “I thought you were on a mission?”

“Yeah, I just got back, and I am _knackered_ , let me tell you. I heard you were heading out soon though, so I figured I'd see if I could catch you before you left, and lo and behold.” He reaches over to take the folder and browse through it, his smile fading almost imperceptibly as he flicks through. “Sounds like a big one,” he mutters, handing the folder back, then perks up again before Allen can even ask any questions. “Have you spoken to Yū yet?”

It hits him then that he has never heard that name before, realising that Lavi had said it earlier. “Yū?”

“Kanda's given name,” Lavi tells him, and he wonders if there's some reason nobody else uses it.

“Oh.” He sighs at the thought of the impending disaster waiting for him, leaning his arms on the table. “No, not yet. I'm meeting him by the gate in... twenty minutes.”

“Ah, you'll be fine. I'm sure he just overreacted when he threatened to murder you. And even if he does want to, he won't until your mission's over.”

“Why is that?”

“He's a studious man, Al; he puts the job before everything else. It's kind of scary sometimes, really.” There is a brief silence as Allen considers how quickly he should leave after their mission is over to be safe, and then Lavi yawns, standing up. “Anyway, you should probably be heading down. You'll want to be at _least_ five minutes early, trust me. I'm going to go take a nap, so I'll see you around, yeah? Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he says, watching as Lavi meanders off out of the cafeteria, then lets out a sigh, gathering his things and resigning himself to his impending doom.

He is standing at the gate for a minute and a half before Kanda shows up, stepping in from outside, glancing briefly at him and then simply turning to walk back out again. Allen takes that as his indication to follow, so he walks outside and to find two horses standing in wait, a member of the grounds team stepping back as Kanda hoists himself up onto one of them. It's been a long time since he's ridden a horse, the last being a disaster (mostly at the fault of Cross, he remembers), but he has no time to hesitate as Kanda spurs his mount into action, at least moving slowly to start with. Allen considers sticking his tongue out in mock at Kanda's back, but figures he's above that and simply mounts the horse, as carefully as he can while rushing through it, then begins to ride off after Kanda, who speeds up once Allen has caught up to him until they are both riding at a gallop, past the town closest to the Order and towards London where he assumes they'll catch a boat to the mainland.

As he had expected it is silent throughout the whole trip, with Kanda not once acknowledging his existence. At least it's better than being insufferable and trying to take his head, Allen thinks, but it is not much of a consolation. He only risks making an attempt at conversation once, two hours into the ride, and he barely gets out the first word before Kanda spurs his horse on with a sharp _hup_ and rides off ahead of him. He doesn't risk trying again.

They catch a boat from London to the mainland and a series of trains from the port through to Denmark, two days passing before they finally make it to the city they need to be in. Allen is glad that he got at least some sleep on the trains, because they step into action immediately, scouting the town for any signs of the demons. Nothing seems terribly out of the ordinary as they wander through the town, passing countless people and between buildings and down every side street that won't get them lost, Kanda's sharp eyes taking in everything around them while Allen's itches with anticipation but never reacts. Unless there had somehow been a mistake and this is not the place they needed to be, then there should theoretically be demons all over the place. Perhaps this was a trap, but if it is then it's a pretty poor one, considering there isn't even anything around to kill them now that they're here.

Kanda begins to grow more frustrated the longer they spend aimlessly walking around, itching for a fight and angry at having been lead on. He's just about ready to pull his sword on anything that moves by the time that night falls and they finally give up, finding an inn and settling down for food. Kanda gives Komui a very angry phonecall once he's finishes eating, impatient and ticked of, Allen sitting quietly by and listening in. “There's nothing here,” he growls the moment somebody on the other side picks up, sparing no small talk. “Yes, we checked the whole area. We've been looking for them all bloody day, and so far not a single one. I know it's a fucking trap, but if this is the best they can do then I'm surprised we ever have problems with them. I don't give a shit _how_ certain you are, I am here right now and I am telling you that _there is nothing here_. Yes, he's here. I don't know, I haven't fucking talked to him. Yeah, fine, you two can hash this out like morons, I'm going to go do something that's actually fucking useful.”

Kanda steps back and looks at Allen for the first time since they left, holding the phone out to him, and he jumps out of his seat to take it before Kanda gets impatient, putting it to his ear as Kanda wanders off somewhere else. “This is Allen,” he says, and there's a relieved sigh on the other end of the line.

“ _Allen, thank goodness_ ,” Komui says, sounding even more tired than he had the last time Allen saw him. “ _Kanda is nearly impossible to talk to rationally when he's upset, I'm glad you're there. Tell me exactly what's happened since you got there._ ”

“Well, um. As soon as we got off the train at about ten this morning we've been scouting out the town looking for them, but we haven't been able to find anything that makes it look like they were ever here at all. Maybe the trap was to lead us here and strike somewhere else?”

“ _That may well be, but..._ ” He lapses into thought, the line quiet as Allen waits. “ _We've been keeping up with the footstaff in the area, and they haven't reported anything strange since last night. They must have known you were coming and... vanished, I suppose, but that doesn't really make any sense. Look, we'll get in contact with you if anything changes, just... Stay there for now, and stay on your guard._ ”

“Alright, we will,” Allen replies, left in a state of confusion as Komui hangs up and he replaces the phone on the hook. Maybe they're after the Order itself, leading the Apostles away so they can strike without hindrances, but surely if that was the case then they'd have done that years ago, before it got so big. Regardless, he now needs to go and track down Kanda to relay the information to him, which is not likely to be fun considering he still hasn't said a word, but as Lavi had told him, business comes first. He steps out of the dining room to the foyer to find Kanda talking to the innkeeper, who looks a little scared as Kanda grills them for any information they have, recent deaths, strange events, any changes to their schedule in the past week or so. Satisfied that the innkeeper is useless, he turns to head off somewhere else, then pauses when he catches sight of Allen in the doorway, narrowing his eyes. “Komui says we need to stay here until further notice,” Allen tells him, keeping it brief and to the point.

Kanda sneers, turning on his heel to head back up the stairs, but pauses on the first step, thoughtful. Allen watches him with the curiosity of somebody who doesn't understand the inner workings of his mind, and then Kanda turns again, heading for the door instead. “We'll do another round,” he mumbles roughly, presumably to himself, but Allen takes it as having been directed at him and has to quell a smile before following after him, stepping back out into the street. A light rain had started up during the time they'd been inside, and a glance eastward to where the clouds are coming in from proves that it will only get worse, the night seeming so much darker with no moonlight to illuminate it. Kanda pauses just outside the doorstep, moving his hand up and turning his palm skyward; Allen watches in silence as he sighs, closing his eyes briefly, then begins to make his way down the street toward the main part of town.

They wander for another hour or so through the rain, sticking to places illuminated by streetlights or the gentle glow from houses and pubs. They are both about ready to call it a night and finally get some sleep, but as they slowly make their way back to the inn through the main street Allen's eye shifts, and he stops dead. “Kanda,” he says lowly, and Kanda stops, looking back at him as he frantically searches for where it is, for the soul that marks it. “I can't find it yet, but there's at least one here.”

Kanda scoffs, whether at Allen or at this new information he can't tell, and his hand raises to his sword, clicking it out of its sheath and sitting ready by his side. Allen continues to search, his eyes passing over everything that even remotely looks like a living object in the gloom, and then he finally finds it, stepping out of a pub and heading south. He steps into a run after it with Kanda close behind, planning to tackle it down and grill it for answers, and though the demon is much smarter than that, bolting off the moment it catches wind of their presence, this only serves to spur Kanda on, charging forth with renewed vigour. Allen considers telling him to wait, not to kill it straight up, but Kanda will likely give it time to explain itself even though he has been waiting for days for a fight, so he keeps his mouth shut and focuses on keeping track of it, the two of them following it into a small alley between a couple of buildings.

“Dumb move,” Kanda sneers at it as they stop at the mouth of the alley, the demon in human form looking at them like a cornered dog. Kanda draws his sword, almost grinning as he runs his fingers down the blade and making it glow.

The demon takes a step back, but has nowhere to go, at least not in its current form. Allen wonders why it isn't changing, leaving its mask behind to try and flee or attack them. Kanda begins to walk down the alley towards it, willing to take his time, but there is a crimson shimmer through the buildings and a rising headache in Allen's mind, and he finally catches on, eyes going wide. “Kanda, stop!” he calls, then the demon smiles, finally shedding its skin, and the others behind it burst through or over the building to enclose them in the alley, three of them moving to block the mouth and their only exit.

“I'd say yours was the dumb move,” the demon chides in its grossly deformed voice, crawling up the wall to join the three around it. Seven in total, Allen counts, all class two, and the sinking feeling in his gut only grows deeper.

Kanda surprises him by barking a single, sharp laugh that is not at all humoured, sword poised and ready. “I'll still kick your asses,” he growls, taking one hand away from his sword and flicking it at his side, the rain collecting in a small ball of water hovering just beside his hand.

The demon laughs, then leaps, screaming as Kanda launches the ball at its face and the water eats through its skin, but the others begin to move in behind it, rearing to kill them. Allen activates his arm and blocks one of the ones behind them, focusing his attention on those while Kanda works on the other four. Some of them are much higher along their class than others and are bound to prove much more of a challenge, but he tells himself to focus on the fight rather than the odds; they won't be able to escape without killing at least a few of them first, so there is no point in considering that option now.

Several of them open fire, raining spheres of hot energy down on them, too many to dodge entirely, and he curses their luck as a few clip by him, one hitting him in the hip and knocking him backwards, Kanda catching one in the shoulder and rolling back across the floor, using the momentum to turn himself around and launch at the ones that had been behind him, slicing clean through one and making a deep incision in another. He pushes himself off the corpse before it disintegrates, back towards the ones in front, water flowing from the blade of his sword as he swings it through the air in front of him and spilling across the demons, not enough to kill them but enough to maim and hinder them. Allen is suddenly very aware of why Komui had classed him as one of their best, stepping out of his way as he lands and skids across the ground, launching into a sprint from there.

Allen turns back to the last demon behind them, grasping it as it takes to the air and bringing it back down to the ground, bits of its spine bending and snapping under the pressure. There is an explosion behind him just as he turns to face it, proud shouts rising from the three that remain, and as the smoke clears he sees Kanda shakily bring himself back to his feet, spitting blood out at the remains of what had been the wall to their right. They fire again and Allen jumps forward to deflect them, glancing back at Kanda and finding him rather the worse for wear; he seems to have borne the brunt of the collapse almost in full, and it's a wonder he's even still alive, let alone standing as strongly as he is.

They wait for the demons to stop firing before they attack again, Allen pulling his arm away once there is a lull in the chaos, intending to leap forward, but they had only fallen into another trap. The demon that had led them here (which he thought had died after Kanda melted its face off) leaps from within the rubble of the building, too close for them to have time to react and launching debris at them with the force of its jump, grabbing them both in its claws and slamming them to the ground. The concrete meets the back of Allen's head with a force that makes his teeth rattle, his vision swimming and the demons' laughs sounding distant in his mind as they move in around them, screeching with the glee of their kills. He wonders if he really is going to die here, after having finally made up his mind to destroy every last one of them. If Cross were here he would be berating him for giving in so easily, but he can't get his mind to focus, can't get the world to stay in one place.

_Don't kill them yet_ , somebody says, and then there is silence, whether because the demons have stopped or his mind has ceased to listen he doesn't know, and his conscious stream of thoughts is ended with the realisation that Kanda is probably going to blame him for whatever is coming next.

When he finally wakes it is to a dark room and a numbness in his arm that stretches up to his shoulder, the taste of iron deep in his throat. He swallows and tries to focus on moving his arm, but finds it bound, pain filling what he can feel of his shoulder when he tries to tug on it, and a glance sideways in the gloom shows that his arm is still active, white claws where his fingers should be. He can't figure out what is pinning it up at first, but then he notices the long, sharp-ended candles jammed in his flesh, two on his forearm and one square in the middle of his palm; it is now that he allows himself to panic, looking furtively around the room for any signs of what's going on. He spots a body on the ground about twenty feet away, dark and unmoving, a moment passing before he recognises it to be Kanda, his sword laying unsheathed some distance away. Allen calls his name, but there is no response, and his breath hitches in his throat. He can't tell if Kanda is still breathing from where he is, wondering, hoping that he is; he is loathe to believe otherwise.

Someone laughs, high and harsh, and he follows the sound upwards, finding the silhouette of somebody floating above him. It is too dark for him to see them properly, but as their laughs taper off into a humoured sigh lights begin to flicker on, candles floating around the room illuminating themselves one by one and casting a flickering orange glow across the empty space. They gently lower themselves to the ground, their shoes clicking on the hardwood floor as they swing whatever they had been sitting on over their shoulder; an umbrella, he realises, not that it matters. “He won't answer,” they say, gold eyes fixed on him as they smile. He places that it's a young girl, barely fifteen, her hair cut haphazardly short and a sly grin on her face, and he wonders what in the world is happening.

“What did you do to him?” he asks, dreading the answer but desperate to know. He tries to move his hand again, curling his fingers, finding that they thankfully still somewhat move, hoping that the rest of his arm will be at least as co-operative in its current state.

“Not much, really,” she sings, tapping the umbrella against her shoulder as she looks over at the collapsed form of his comrade. “He was a real pain, woke up long before you did, so I had to put him back to sleep for a while. I'm sure he won't be far behind you now. I wonder what he's dreaming about.” Her gaze slides back to Allen, and she begins to walk closer, her steps ringing in his ears until she stops barely a few feet in front of him, squatting down and looking at him curiously. “It must be my lucky day, with the Order sending the two of you. The cursed boy and the god of war...” She grins, her tongue flicking between her teeth. “So you're the one? It's a pretty scar, at least.”

She's related to the demons, somehow, but he doesn't know enough to place more than that. He expects that she's one of them, but his eye isn't reacting, not even an itch in his scar at her presence where his body knows that she can't be human, _surely_ ; it feels all wrong, every inch of him knowing that she's dangerous but unable to place how. “What are you?” he grinds out, a short-lived pang of relief hitting him as his arm begins to tingle. He's making progress.

She grins, white teeth contrasting the darkness of her skin, and she stands again, looking down on him. “Out of your league,” she replies simply, with a hint of malice that he hadn't picked up before. “I am of the Clan of Noah. I carry the essence of the first of God's chosen ones. _We_ are the only true Apostles; your little troupe means nothing.” He isn't sure what nonsense she's spouting, he just knows he needs to get out, to grab Kanda and find his way out of wherever this is. He pulls on his arm again, gritting his teeth against the feeling as the candles shift in his flesh. “I wouldn't bother,” she says, and he pauses, glaring at her. “What are you going to do? Kill me? I'd like to see you try, you human piece of trash.”

“Dammit,” he breathes, watching her carefully. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh, I didn't tell you? How _rude_. Road Kamelot, at your service, my good sir.” He can't help his lips turning down in distaste as she gives him a mock curtsey, but it only serves to amuse her, her smile widening. “But of course I know _all_ _about_ you, Allen Walker. Well, that's a lie. I only know _most_ things about you. Like about your father, for instance. Such a shame, what happened to him, don't you think? And I was so looking forward to commanding him as a demon.”

Something hot flashes inside him, and he suddenly can't stand to see her face any more. His eyes clamp shut as he pulls, pain shooting sharp and burning throughout him, but he works against it, Road staying silent as his voice rises in his throat and his arm finally tears free of the wall, the candles that had been holding him clattering to the ground and rolling away as his blood spills over them. He's finally free, but at more cost than he'd bargained for, his arm now burning agonisingly bright in his nerves, and he is left panting and dizzy, hazy eyes settling on Road. “You're not chosen by God,” he spits out, glad that he's wiped that grin off her face at least for a moment, “You're worse than the demons.”

But it soon returns, bringing her lips up at the corners and stretching across her teeth. “It's better than following a false god, I suppose,” she says, twirling her umbrella in her hand. “Either way, I can still kill you whenever I want.” She plucks one of the candles from the air beside her, gold eyes set firmly on his silver ones as she licks the tip of it, slow and languid, and then she flicks her hand. He screams, more than he has ever screamed in his life, tearing from his lungs and resounding in his ears, and all he can think is how much it hurts, it _hurts so much he can't take this_.

It is this scream that finally wakes Kanda, his eyes sliding open to the sight of Allen curled and bloody on the floor and the dark-skinned girl whose harsh cackles ring painfully in his ears. It doesn't take long for him to put two together and he is on his feet in seconds, grabbing his sword and charging for the girl; she barely has time to look at him before his sword has cut clean through her neck, and then his attention moves to Allen, tense as he squats down beside him. “What happened?” he asks tersely, hoping that the kid is still conscious enough to answer.

He slowly opens his eyes –one of them, at least– the silver orb glassy and distant. “She's... human,” he grinds out, his breath heavy and trembling and sticky with the blood on his lips. “But, not quite-- Look.”

Kanda follows his eyes to where the girl still stands, smoke trailing from her neck as the flesh shifts and grows. He has seen this many times before, watched limbs regrow in layers from the stumps of their former placements, but it doesn't look right on this girl, seeming strangely grotesque. Her eyes are last to form, deep gold set on him in an amused and playful frown. “That wasn't very nice,” she coos, running a hand through her mess of dark hair. “I can admire your guts, though, as much as I'd like to see them spilled on the walls.”

“You sick fuck,” he growls at her, rising to stand with his sword at the ready. “Consider it payback for knocking me out, twice.”

She snorts a laugh, stepping back and kicking at the small pile of dust sitting where her previous head had fallen, then turns back to look at Allen, that loathsome smile on her face. “I think I like you, Allen,” she says, clicking her fingers, and the air behind her begins to shift. “So I'm going to let you live this time. No guarantees about the next time we meet.” Her gaze shifts back to Kanda as something materialises behind her, the air condensing and forming what looks like an oddly-shaped door. “You, though. I'm definitely going to kill you next time.”

He scoffs, thinking about whether or not he should strike before she escapes. The way she sounds, they'll definitely be running into her again, so he decides to just let her go. “Ditto, bitch,” he growls, and she winks at him, making his blood curl.

“Until next time, Allen,” she sings, and Allen watches her go through lidded eyes, the door swinging open to swallow her whole.

Kanda sneers at the door as it slams shut behind her, then returns his attention to Allen, sheathing his sword and kneeling down to inspect the bloody mess of a boy. His left arm deactivates, the white encasing slowly shifting and morphing back into mottled red skin, scars in the flesh where the holes had been. “You are going to tell me everything that happened,” he bites, but Allen doesn't answer; his right hand shifts from where it had been held over his eye, moving over to weakly grab a handful of Kanda's sleeve.

“Kanda, you're...” he breathes, and Kanda expects to hear an end to that sentence, but Allen's hand relaxes and falls to his lap, and he figures it's just his luck that the kid passes out after all this. He briefly inspects Allen's eye, not wanting more than a glance at the disgusting mess it's become, and he knows that Allen needs to at least have that looked at by someone who knows what they're doing. He curses his string of bad luck, then focuses his attention on trying to figure out a way to get out of this hell pit they've found themselves in.

Allen opens his eyes to white-washed ceilings and early morning sunlight streaming in through the open window, warm on his arm where a needle sits heavy in his skin. He takes a deep breath of the stuffy hospital air, grimacing as the movement makes him aware of bruises on his ribs and his collarbone, perhaps a fractured bone or two. There is a familiar lack of feeling in his arm, almost parasthetic when he tries to move his fingers. His face hurts, throbbing pain down the whole left side of it and deep in the back of his eye and the base of his skull, and as he looks around the room he realises that he can only see half of what he should. He remembers Road, the unforgettable feeling of her candle jammed in his eye, Kanda's voice in his ears as he passed out, and it suddenly all makes sense.

“Ah, you're finally awake,” someone says beside him, and he turns his head to find one of Komui's assistants sitting in a chair by the window, a stack of papers on the small table beside him and a few sheets in his hands. He gives Allen a small smile when he meets his eyes, gentle and warm. “I'm Reever Wenham, head of the science unit. Komui would have been here himself, but he has work that I'm sure he isn't actually doing. How are you feeling?”

Allen rolls his tongue around his mouth, swallowing the dryness in his throat. “Um, fine,” he replies, stretching the fingers of his right hand in the absence of movement in his left. His knuckles are scarred and bruised, a myriad of colours down the length of bare skin on his arm. “What happened?”

“That's what I'm hoping you can tell us,” Reever says, and Allen meets his eyes again. “As you can imagine, Kanda was less than forthcoming with the information.”

_Kanda_. “Where is he, is he alright?”

Reever chuckles, setting his papers aside and leaning forward on the chair, linking his hands. “Calm down, mate, he's fine. He's already gone off on another mission.”

Already? At least he was well enough to do so, Allen thinks, and allows himself to be relieved. He clenches his hand at his side, three sharp points of pain registering through the numbness, and he glances down to find deep scars where Road had pinned him up. He remembers the room they had been trapped in and tries to decipher what had happened after he'd lost consciousness. “How did we get out?” he asks, looking back over at Reever.

He hums as he thinks about it, absently rubbing his chin. “All Kanda said was that after you passed out, 'the room shifted, and the next thing he knew you were sitting on the floor at the inn'. I couldn't really make sense of it, but he said that you were more likely to clear things up.”

Trust Kanda to leave him with the cleaning up, but he supposes that's only fair; he does feel somehow responsible for this mess, and he is, after all, the one who is still in hospital. He looks back up at the ceiling and closes his eyes, thinking over all the events that had transpired the past day or so, depending on how long he'd been asleep; he doesn't really want to explain all that right now. “Is it urgent?” he asks, opening his eyes after his body threatens to fall asleep again. “I... have other questions.”

“Yeah, sure. You want me to get you up to speed on things?”

“Please.”

Reever clears his throat, shuffling through his papers to find one in particular, and Allen figures it must be his medical report or something similar. “You were asleep for a day and a half, which is understandable given the strain on your body. You had minor head trauma, which has since healed, two fractured ribs, various other scars and bruising all fairly minor, aside from one on your upper arm that needed stitches. Your left arm his healing unnaturally well, but I suppose that's because of the nature of it; the scars should be healed completely in about a week. Kanda didn't have as many injuries, he was mostly just fatigued, which is why he's out again so soon.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Allen says, thinking back to when the demons had trapped them. “When they caught us, he was...”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Reever tells him, chuckling a little and setting the paper back down. “He's a mystery to pretty much all of us. Heals like a gecko, that one.”

He's still confused about it, but decides to put that information to the back of his mind for now to think on later. His attention moves to his eye, reaching his good hand up to gently run his fingers over the bandage covering it. “And what about my eye?” he asks, knowing that there must have been some reason that Reever had left it out of his account. He fears for the worst, and it is not unfounded; Reever's expression shifts to something darker, and he knows that bad news is coming.

Reever takes a deep breath, linking his hands in thought. “Allen, this can be a hard thing for anyone to bear, and I understand if you're going to be upset about it, but the Order still needs you, so I need you to try and take this as best you can, alright?” Allen swallows the fear rising in his throat, already having a good idea of what he's about to hear. Having it spoken doesn't make it any easier, but at least the confirmation erases any doubts that might arise. “It's... Your eye is gone, as far as we can tell. I'm not sure if it's because of your abilities as an Apostle or what, but a kind of... skin, I suppose, some kind of encasing has formed over your eye socket, and it's hard enough that the doctors couldn't get through it to remove the remains of the eye, and you're too valuable for us to experiment in trying to remove the covering. Regardless, you apparently had something akin to a _stake_ jammed in there; there's no way to fully recover from that.”

He's going to have to live the rest of his life with only one eye, he realises. He doubts he would be reacting so harshly had it been his right eye, but it wasn't, and the fact of the matter is that he has lost his only advantage against the demons, lost the last thing Mana had ever given him, whether that had been in spite or otherwise. Cursed or not, it wasn't going to do any good any more, not now that he can't see the demons for what they are. His feels his right eye sting as moisture wells up in it, and he moves his hand up to wipe it away before it spills. “I suppose that's it, then?” he asks, and Reever looks at him in confusion. “It's gone for good?”

He seems hesitant, guilty, and Allen feels bad for him, having to be the bearer of bad news like this. “Well, yes. That's the only conclusion we can draw right now,” he says quietly, narrowing his eyes in concern. “Allen, are you... going to be alright?”

He nods, taking a deep breath as the tears spill regardless of his efforts to subdue them. “Yes, I just-- I'll be fine,” he murmurs, removing the hand covering his face to stare at the ceiling. “There's nothing else I can do, and these things happen, right? It's only natural, doing work like this. I just need to... to keep moving forward regardless. I can still fight, so that's what I'm going to do. As soon as I'm healed here it'll be barely any different to before.”

“Um, about that,” Reever puts in gently, and Allen looks at him, wondering what he means. “It's going to take some time before you're allowed to fight again.”

The frustration rises as anger in his throat, and Allen has to bite his tongue to keep himself from snapping something he'll regret. “What?” he asks instead, hoping to God that there's a good reason for it.

“You're not ready to step back into duty quite yet,” he explains, as gently as he can. “You've lost an entire eye; that isn't something you can get used to in a day. You're going to need time to learn how to compensate for a blind side. Yes, I suppose the best way to learn is through battle, but it's far too dangerous and there are much safer alternatives. I'm sure Lavi will be happy to help you train.”

He wants to cry, wants to scream that he doesn't need that time being useless, but he knows through his rage that Reever is right, and the flame of anger in his chest begins to quell as he thinks of the long road ahead of him. Even with intense training it will take months, years even to be as good in battle as he has been with both eyes, and even then he may never get used to it. He sighs heavily, his chest hurting with the motion, and after all this he realises how tired he still is. “Alright,” he mutters, and Reever gives him a small smile. He hates it, but there's nothing he can do about it now; he just has to keep walking and believing in his own ability to grow stronger as he goes, and hoping that it's enough to save them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ashamed that Lenalee hasn't really been an important character thus far, but I'm hoping to remedy that in the next chapter or two, so for those who have been asking where she is, you can expect more of her to come.


	6. Impatience in Impotence

“There you go, you're starting to get the hang of it now,” Lavi beams between breaths, readjusting his stance to prepare for another round. They had forgone weapons for this particular exercise, and Allen is glad that he is at least somewhat adept at hand-to-hand, though Lavi still continues to find ways to use his newly acquired blind side to his advantage.

Allen flexes his hands, shifting his footing so that he is more evenly balanced. “I get the feeling you're not quite taking this seriously,” he says, watching Lavi for any surprises. It wouldn't be the first time today.

He smirks a little, fairly nonchalant about the whole thing. “What makes you say that?” he asks, in a tone that implies he knows exactly what.

“You keep pulling faces at me, Lavi. I wouldn't call that 'taking it seriously'.”

“Oh, lighten up Al. You're trying too hard. Relax, let it flow.”

“I don't see how that's going to help.”

“Trust me, it will. Things don't work right if you're too tense.” Allen sighs, considering it, then takes a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders and shifting his weight a little. “Another round?” Lavi asks, and he nods just before Lavi charges towards him regardless, requiring him to parry as he steps around out of the way and swivels around to meet his next move.

Allen ducks under a well-aimed kick and swings his fist, aiming for the stomach, but Lavi grabs his arm and twists around to get him in a lock. “Gotcha,” he sings, and Allen allows himself a grin; he's been in this lock many times before, and he utilises his knowledge now, Lavi giving a surprised yelp as Allen throws his weight forward and rolls across the ground, shaking him off. They both jump back to their feet and ready a stance, Lavi giving him a disgruntled look. “That was dirty, Al,” he says, readjusting his headband.

“You never said we had to play cleanly,” he quips back, and Lavi simply shrugs. Allen strikes first this time, aiming for Lavi's blind side, but Lavi avoids it and they lapse back into combat in full force.

He manages to knock Lavi down, but Lavi kicks and brings Allen down with him, and as they roll back to a standing position Lavi's eyes flick to the doorway, then he pauses, perking up a little. “Lenalee!” he beams, lowering his hands a little. Allen follows his gaze to where Lenalee sits cross-legged just inside the doorway, smiling at them both. She must have just returned from her mission, he figures, especially considering the bandage on her face and the tired look in her eyes. “Did you come to watch me using my awesome muscles?” he asks, flexing an arm for emphasis.

She laughs at him, a hand going to her mouth. “Your muscles _are_ pretty awesome,” she says, and then her eyes move over to Allen. “But I actually came to see how Allen was doing.”

“Oh,” Allen says, dropping his hands and relaxing his stance. He should have known that there was no way Komui would keep her out of the loop, but it still somehow bothers him. “How much did they tell you?”

Her expression softens a little, her eyes flicking down very briefly. “Most of it, I think. The appearance of a Noah is apparently a pretty big deal, and Komui says the Apostles should know what's going on. He's already contacted all of us to share what information they've been able to gather.” It makes sense, he thinks; he remembers what Reever had said when he'd given his recount of the events, what Komui had told him upon his return, that the Noah are dangerous and a bigger threat than demons ever were. “More importantly,” she continues, “He told me about you, so I came to see how you were holding up. Kanda says you've barely left this floor.”

“Kanda said that?” he asks, wondering why Kanda would have anything to say about him at all.

“Yeah, he spends about as much time up here as you do now. Though he's more healthy about it, I don't think it's good for you to spend so much time training.”

“I've been trying to tell him as much, but he won't listen, will you Al?” Lavi chides, giving him a cynically raised eyebrow.

“Then why do you still train with him?” Lenalee asks pointedly, as though it's Lavi's fault.

He shrugs, defensive. “Hey, I only do it when I have the free time and the energy to spare. Besides, who else is there that can teach him how to use only one eye?”

“Marie? Though I suppose he wouldn't really have quite the same knowledge.”

“Yeah, being blind is pretty different to having even half your sight, trust me.”

“Still!” she huffs, looking back at Allen. “You should take a break once in a while.”

“I can't,” he tells her, and they both look at him, surprised. “I need to be strong enough to fight them again. There's no point in being an Apostle if I can't fight demons.”

“Allen,” Lavi sighs, and Lenalee gets the impression that they've had this conversation more than once. “You _are_ still strong enough to fight them, it's just too risky to let you do so before you're at least a little bit used to the sight difference.”

“And when will that be, Lavi?” he bites, but Lavi stays silent. “All I can do right now is try my best to be good enough for _them_ to deem me able to fight, and this is the only way I know how, so unless you have some sort of brilliant idea to magically bring my eye back then I don't know what I'm supposed to do.” He's getting irrationally mad, he knows, but his hands are shaking and his eye hurts and he finds himself hard-pressed to care.

Lenalee rises to her feet, smoothing out her skirt before looking Allen straight in the eye. “Allen,” she says slowly, carefully, “These things happen. It's just the nature of war. It is terrible that it had to happen to you, but it's done now and that's the end of it. Excuse me for saying this, but you need to suck it up and have patience. These things take time, and while you have every right to be upset about it, it's not really going to do you any good.”

He wants to snap at her, to tell her she's wrong, that he's _trying, damn it_ , but anything he would want to say slips from his mind as he knows that she's right. He is unjustified in his rage, acting like a child simply because he had something taken away from him. He deflates with a deep sigh, looking away from both of them as he thinks. He needs to get away from them for a moment, to take time on his own to calm down and reflect on his mindset. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs, then heads for the door.

“Allen, wait,” Lenalee says, but he steps past her and briskly out down the hall, and she reluctantly lets him go. She sighs, turning back to Lavi, who stands there with a look of mild befuddlement on his face. “Has he been like that the whole time?” she asks, trying to make heads or tails of what exactly is going through Allen's mind.

“Pretty much,” Lavi replies, relaxing his shoulders and scratching just below his ear. “He was better the first few days, when he was mostly just upset about what happened, but I think the longer he's stuck here the angrier he's getting. He's still young, after all. It's a harsh thing to happen to anybody, but a kid like him? It's eating him.”

She hums thoughtfully, tapping her foot as she considers her options, then decides on something that she hopes will turn out to benefit him. “Let Komui know that Allen and I are going to town for a while, would you?” she asks, and Lavi gives her a thumbs up.

“Sure thing, Lena,” he says, giving her a smile, and she returns it before stepping out to go and track down their wayward friend.

She asks around the hallways on whether or not anybody has seen him and is led to the unassuming door of his room, thick wood the same as all the others on most of the floors in this area. She takes a deep breath, considers what she's going to say, then knocks gently on the door, a small thump heard from inside as Allen jumps up to answer it, his expression faltering once he realises who it is. “Oh, Lenalee,” he murmurs, unsure of what else to say.

“Are you busy?” she asks flatly, and he blinks.

“Um. No?”

“Good, you're coming for a walk in town with me.”

“What do you--”

“Grab your coat, let's go.”

“Oh, um, okay,” he breathes, grabbing his coat from where it sits folded on his bed and jogging to catch up with her after she turns to stroll down the hall. It is silent as they walk, their boots echoing on the stone tiles as they head downstairs to the canal, and it is only once they are on the boat that Lenalee breaks the silence.

“You've been on a fair few missions by now, haven't you?” she asks suddenly, and Allen jumps a little, glancing down at her before returning his eyes to the route in front of them.

“A few, yes,” he replies, unsure of where she's going with this.

“How are you finding the work?”

That's a fairly general question, and he isn't exactly sure how to answer, especially in light of recent events. “It's not so bad,” he finds himself saying, thinking back on all the ones he'd been sent on before his most recent one. “It's not exactly desirable, of course, but... I enjoy doing it.”

“Really?” she asks incredulously, and he gives her a look of confusion. “I'm sorry, it's just that you're the only one I've ever heard say that they _enjoy_ this. And to think you were so against it in the beginning. I can't think of any reason why someone would actually enjoy being an Apostle.”

“You don't seem to mind it,” he says quietly, then pauses. “Do you?”

She gives a small laugh, looking away. “Well, really I've just grown used to it. I despised it at first.” Allen finds it hard to imagine that, coming from Lenalee, who seems so at ease here at the Order and in the life she's taken. “I was forced to be here, in the beginning,” she continues thoughtfully, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I was brought here when I was really young, and they wouldn't let me leave because they needed my power. That was back when we had fairly few Apostles, so every one was a precious asset to them. I hated everything about it, but as time went on and Komui joined me here, I came to hate it less, and now, well... I can't imagine life without it.”

He wonders what exactly had happened to her in the beginning, but the look on her face when she talks about it tells him that he should probably not ask questions about that particular point. “Komui is your brother, right?” he asks instead, remembering the things he's heard of their relationship. “Did he join here because of you?”

She nods, stifling a small laugh to herself. “Yes, he came about a year or so after me. Don't ask how he became the supervisor, I honestly have no idea, but I'm glad he did. He's the only family member I had.”

“Had?”

She smiles at him, reaching out to bring the boat to the pier as they drift up beside it. “The Order is my home now,” she explains, tying the rope to the moor as Allen brings them in closer, “And everyone in it is my family.”

It's strange, he thinks as they ascend the stairs to step out of the church above, for her to consider them all her family like that, but he supposes that it makes some degree of sense. With her own brother being such a closely knit component and having been part of it for so many years, he can understand why she would come to see them that way; they are all so nice, after all (with the odd exception), and the sense of camaraderie among them makes him feel as though it really is just one big, bizarre family. It is not dissimilar to the circus, he realises, perhaps even more tightly woven than the troupes he has travelled with but never felt a part of. War can bring people closer together, after all, but he worries about when it will tear them apart.

Her first order of business is to find lunch, since she hadn't eaten since returning and Allen had been training all day, so they pick up some pastries from a baker on the corner and nibble on them as they wander through the town, stopping to look in various store windows on their way down the main streets at clothing and jewellery and various little knick-knacks. Allen takes particular interest in the things Lenalee tells him while she keeps conversation, trying to focus on her rather than the seemingly misplaced fear growing in his gut the longer he is there, flinching at every little noise and his eyes catching every movement. Eventually they tire and settle on one of the benches placed intermittently along the main road, watching the day pass them by in silence. “You know, I never got to see it,” Lenalee muses after a time, pulling a piece of bread off of the roll in her hands and popping it into her mouth. “Your eye, that is.”

He frowns, picking apart his fourth pastry as he tries to figure out what she means. “You saw me before this happened,” he mutters, confused.

She rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face. “In _action_ , Allen. I never saw it in action. Lavi told me about it, what happened when the demons got close enough for you to see them. It sounded really cool.”

He sighs, thinking back on the most recent occasions that his curse had been useful. “I can't see them any more,” he says despondently, and she looks over at him, munching thoughtfully. “It was the only advantage I had over them. Now, they could spring from anywhere, and I wouldn't know until it was too late.”

“That's not true,” she says, and he pauses, looking at her. “I mean, none of _us_ have cursed eyes, so how do you think we get by?”

He blinks. “Honestly? I've no clue.”

She sighs as though she is teaching things to a child, but she seems happy to explain all the same. “First of all, I promise that you can calm down. Don't think I haven't noticed you being jumpy all day, you're going to drive yourself mad at this rate.”

“But you can't tell who's a demon and who isn't,” he explains, hoping that she understands his point. “Any one of these people could be one of them, and they could take us by surprise at any moment. There's no way we can be ready for that if we just relax and let it happen.”

“Allen, Apostles don't survive as long as they do by sheer luck.” She pauses as she splits up the last of her roll, throwing it in pieces to the couple of pigeons milling about them. “There are a lot of factors that contribute to why what we do works. The demons, for one. They're not usually stupid enough to attack us in plain sight, unless it's to their advantage. Second, they can sense an Apostle when they're close enough.” She pauses, glancing over at Allen. “I guess it's sort of like your eye was, huh? Like a sensory thing. They know who we are just by looking at us, and the uniform only serves to help with that; it shows them who we are without a shadow of a doubt. Therefore, we can then rule out anybody that simply ignores us. If a person approaches us or acts out to try and get attention, _that_ is when we suspect them, and that's when we prepare ourselves for a fight. I suppose you would never have needed to learn that before now, but the rest of us have all learned it one way or another.”

Allen looks away from her, ruminating on each piece of information and trying to make sure he understands it all. “So you just suspect anybody that approaches you?” he asks quietly, and she nods emphatically. “That seems... cruel.”

“There are a lot of cruel things,” she says, leaning back on the bench and swinging her feet, “And many of them are much worse than simply suspecting someone of being a demon. It's for their safety, after all, and there has to be sacrifices.” Allen is unsure of what to say to that, his mind turning it over and working at each word until he is distracted from it when his eye begins to act out again, pain suddenly ebbing around the socket in what is becoming a common occurrence. He presses his fingertips into the bone just to the left of the eye, putting pressure on it until it passes. “Does it hurt?” she asks, and he suddenly realises that he'd been too careless.

“Oh, um. Sometimes,” he concedes, frowning to himself at his apparently inability to effectively lie to her, trying his best to remedy that. “Not much, though.”

She frowns, leaning forward to get a better look as though she will somehow be able to understand. “Do the nurses know?” she asks, and he hesitates. She seems to understand this pause as answer enough, and scowls at him. “Have you had it _checked_?”

Not since the second check-up they had given him upon returning to headquarters, he thinks, and that was weeks ago now. He tries to hastily find an answer decent enough to assuage her, and he is saved by an interruption from a priest that had stopped just in front of them. “Madam Lee,” the man says, bowing to her, and she jumps to her feet.

“Father Darius!” she beams, then holds out her palm to him. He draws something on it with his finger, and she relaxes, while Allen feels somehow out of the loop. “I'm glad to see you're doing well,” she says, smiling at him.

“Likewise, but I am afraid I'm here on business. The supervisor would like you and Master Walker to return to headquarters immediately.”

Allen tries not to dwell on the way the priest's eyes had lingered on him when he was mentioned, instead focusing on the apparent oddity in the request. “Is there something the matter?” Lenalee asks, seeming just as confused as he is.

Darius seems thoughtful for a moment, casting an eye back down the street. “I'm afraid I don't know, but I was told that it was urgent,” he explains, and she nods.

“Alright, we'll head back now. Thank you, Father.” Darius bows to them, and then she drags Allen up and back towards the church, contemplative as she leads him through the streets he is yet to learn.

“What do you suppose it's about?” Allen asks her, and she just shakes her head.

“I have no idea. I hope it's nothing serious,” she murmurs, and he gets the heavy feeling that it may well be bad news.

Lavi is already there when they step into Komui's office, greeting them with a sombre wave over the back of the lounge as they walk over to sit beside him, nervous of Komui's dark expression and the strange lack of personnel in the room. “Now that you're all here,” Komui begins, reaching behind him to pick up a small folder on his desk, “We're sending the three of you to Morocco. You leave as soon as we're done here. You are to meet Marshal Yeegar in a town in the south, then head further down to one of the larger cities.”

“Marshal Yeegar?” Lenalee asks, and Allen glances over to see her heavily bemused face. “Is there something going on there that would need three Apostles _and_ a Marshal?”

Komui sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, a heavy pause filling the room before he speaks again. “We're fairly sure there's a member of the Clan of Noah there,” he says, and Allen's blood freezes. “Our footstaff have been keeping an eye on them for a few days now, since we couldn't exactly be sure, but they've killed a few people and have been seen conversing with and commanding a few demons.”

“Is it Road?” Allen asks quietly, and they all look at him, mixed expressions on their faces.

Komui clears his throat. “No, it's an older man, somewhere between twenty and thirty-five I was told. There's a full briefing being printed as we speak which contains all of that information. You should get yourselves ready and leave as soon as possible; we don't want to lose them.”

Lavi had been quiet during the whole thing, but now he finally speaks up. “What are we supposed to do when we find them?” he asks, having thought of what should have been the most obvious question, but Allen had been too busy thinking about what had happened the last time they'd found one.

“That's for Marshal Yeegar to decide. He's much more experienced than any of us currently are, and it really depends on what the situation is like when you get there. All I can say is that I want you all to be safe, and don't jump into anything you're unsure of. We have no idea what the Noah can do, and we don't want any more casualties than is necessary. I'd like you to get in contact with headquarters for an update at least once a day.”

Komui doesn't really have much more to say, though he does have a personal talk with Lenalee about being careful and coming home safely, so they head off to begin their preparations, pausing just outside of Komui's door. “Just how scary are these Noah?” Lavi asks more lightly than the situation calls for, though still looking awfully thoughtful about it. “For four Apostles to be needed, it's pretty extreme.”

Allen sighs, thinking back on his encounter to try and pick out anything useful. “I'm not really sure,” he mutters, earning him a pair of curious looks. “I mean, Road didn't really do much, that I saw anyway. It might be better off asking Kanda, I was only half-conscious for the whole thing.”

“I tried that when he was last here,” Lavi sighs, “But he wouldn't tell me anything. 'Talk to the brat about it', he said, 'he's the one that had a fucking chat with it'.”

“I asked him about it,” Lenalee pipes up, “But he still didn't tell me much. He did say that they were definitely not human, though, and certainly not something to be taken lightly.”

“Yū said that? Damn, now I'm nervous, he always takes things lightly.”

Allen tries not to wonder about just what Kanda thinks of it all and focuses instead on the task at hand, worrying about who this new Noah is and what's going to happen if they find him. It has been pretty heavily assumed that the Noah far surpass them in power, and as much as he would like to defeat them, he knows that fighting them on equal ground is not something that is likely to happen. It lingers in his mind throughout the whole trip, resurfacing every time he tries to push it down and nagging behind any other thoughts he has. Morocco is a nice enough place, at least, the three of them travelling down the coastline with the sun at their backs, and it helps to assuage his fears a little; accompanied by pleasant weather and Lavi's exuberant demeanour and Lenalee's warm smile, it is easy to forget what waits for them at their destination.

“It's a good way to cope,” Lavi explains when Allen brings it up in hushed tones one day over breakfast, leaning over the table and swirling his coffee. “This line of work can be pretty hard on you, so you learn to take the small things.” He notices the way Lavi's eyes fall on Lenalee as he says that, watching her talk with the innkeeper about directions and their fastest route, and Allen gets the feeling that this war is a lot harder on them than they make it seem.

Lenalee he can understand, with the way she had talked about her past and the Order and her ever-changing family, but Lavi he still knows almost nothing about, even after all this time. Allen has heard that he is some kind of historian or bookkeeper, but of what exactly he has no idea, and Lavi never lets on even that much, and while he would likely have asked about it under different circumstances, he feels as though he should leave the subject alone. He recognises the look in Lavi's eyes when he thinks nobody is watching, if only because it is so similar to Allen's own, and he has enough respect for his comrade to keep his questions to himself.

The only change in whatever falsity Lavi has constructed that Allen can remember occurs later that day, while they are only another half day's travel from their destination and having stopped for the night after the trains had stopped running. This town is still fairly lively even at this time of night, the streets thick with people and the air heavy with smoke from the gaslamps lighting the streets and trailing from the bars along the bigger roads, and neither Allen nor Lenalee realise they have lost Lavi until they stop just outside of a pub, Lenalee turning to ask if it was good enough but met only with empty air. Allen casts his eyes further down the street and spots him a few feet down, leading Lenalee over and looking on with concern as Lavi leans against the wall, eye set hard on the ground and breath coming irregularly. “Lavi?” Lenalee asks, gently taking his hand, “Are you alright?”

He blinks and looks up to meet her eyes, flashing her his patented grin. “Oh, yeah,” he says easily, carefully straightening himself up. Allen notices that he keeps one hand against pressed against the wall. “Just fatigued all of a sudden, you know? Too long between meals I think, we should get dinner on pronto.” Lenalee doesn't question it further as he strolls off ahead of them, sharing only a brief, concerned look with Allen before following after him, and Allen quickly forgets about it as they work through a fulfilling dinner at the pub.

They find an inn with open rooms not too far from the station to stay the night, and Allen finds himself fidgety and nervous now that he has realised just how close they are to what is probably going to be an encounter with the Noah. They have been checking in with headquarters every night since leaving, tonight being no different, and unless there has been some sudden change then the Noah has only moved about a town or so away from where they were when the three of them left headquarters. Allen's eye aches with the memory of what Road did to him, and that was when she wasn't even trying; imagining what a Noah could do if they were serious fills him with a dread he has seldom felt before. _It will be fine_ , he tells himself, _there are three of us, we're being careful, there will be a Marshal with us_ , but there is nothing he can think that assuages the cold taste of fear in his mouth.

Lenalee makes the call to Komui as they are checking in, using the phone in the foyer and dialling up the Order's secure network. Allen's eye drifts back to her often, nervous of any developments as Lavi chats up the young woman working the desk beside him, and as Lenalee's eyes go wide and the hand holding the earpiece drifts down his heart drops into his stomach. She glances back and meets his stare, moisture welling up in her eyes as she holds the phone out for him, and he steps forward to take it, watching Lenalee carefully as she wipes her eyes clear. “Um, it's Allen,” he says into the mouthpiece, dreading what it is he's about to hear. “What happened?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Komui says, and there is a careful pause that follows, Allen's nerves growing with each passing second. “ _I'm... sorry, Allen, but we need you all to come back up north. I'll meet you in Madrid when you get there, one of our footstaff will lead you from the station. Call me before you get there so that we know_.”

He's avoiding the main point, Allen knows, there is something very, very wrong here. “I understand,” he says, then, more forcefully, “But I would like to know what happened.”

“ _Of course you would, I'm sorry. I just-- Is Lenalee alright?_ ”

He glances back to where Lenalee sits silently on one of the chairs in the foyer, talking in hushed tones with Lavi with tears on her face. Lavi glances up and catches his eye, and there is a flash of sympathy that says Lavi already knows. “She's strong,” Allen says to Komui, his eyes drifting down, “I'm sure she will be.”

Komui sighs, and there is something murmured on the other end of the line that Allen doesn't catch. “ _Marshal Yeegar was killed just a couple of hours ago,_ ” he says finally, Allen's breath hitching in his throat as he suddenly understands Lenalee's reaction. For a Marshal, so fabled in strength, to fall so suddenly, it is a stark example of the gap in power between them and the Noah. It takes him a moment to remember that Komui is talking. “ _The footstaff that were with him -the ones that survived, at least- called in and told us that the Noah had found them. We don't know if that was their plan all along, to lure the Marshal there, but the fact of the matter is that the Noah struck before we could. Another thing..._ ”

He trails off, and Allen counts a full twenty seconds before it gets to him enough to question it. “What other thing?” he asks, glancing up as Lenalee and Lavi step up beside him.

“ _There was something carved into the Marshal's back. 'The Eve of this night will be ours'._ ”

“What does that mean?”

Komui begins to say something, then stops himself. “ _Look, just meet me in Spain as soon as you can and I'll explain everything. And please,_ _ **please**_ _, be careful._ ”

The trip back north is much more sombre than the one south, the Marshal's death weighing heavily on all of their minds. Lenalee barely says a word, and it is Allen's understanding that she is grieving; she had been quite fond of the Marshal, according to Lavi, having been taught many things by him when she was younger. Allen is never sure how to treat a grieving person, despite how often he has had to in the past, but this is Lenalee, a friend and an Apostle and not a stranger that he can simply speak situational wisdom onto and hope for the best, so he leaves her be and hopes that she will ask for his aid if she needs it. It is all he can hope for in this situation, really.

Madrid is hot and stuffy and crowded even this late in the year and it does very little to ease their moods, if anything only serving to irritate them further. As Komui had said there is a man with a cross emblazoned on his chest waiting for them when they step off the train, greeting their sombre demeanours with professional simplicity and then leading them through the town, winding through side-streets and back-alleys until they come to a squat little building with a small cross engraved at the foot of the door. The air is smoky and heavily scented when they step inside from some kind of incense that sits burning on the table, and it fills Allen's lungs as they step through to a door at the back of the room, their guide pushing it open to reveal Komui and an older man he has never seen (who, strangely, makes Lavi perk up a little at the sight of, the two of them sharing a silent nod) both sitting around a table barely visible beneath the tomes and papers that cover it.

“I'm glad you made it,” Komui says as he stands, shaking their hands in turn and giving Lenalee a brief embrace before inviting them to sit. “We've been doing as much research as we can, and while we haven't exactly learned anything new, we'd like to share with you what we've got so far. I apologise for bombarding you with all this as soon as you've arrived, but we need to send you off again as soon as we can.”

“It's alright,” Allen says, “We understand that the circumstances call for it.”

Komui closes his eyes and nods, taking a deep breath before meeting their gazes. “We believe that the Noah are targeting the Marshals,” he begins, shuffling through some of the mess to find what looks to Allen like a summary of their findings. “The attack on Marshal Yeegar is high proof of this, especially considering the writing left with him. I am assuming they meant it as some kind of taunt, but it has actually been very useful in letting us know what exactly they are searching for; Eve.”

Allen catches Lenalee's quiet gasp and glances over to find her eyes wide, but more with understanding than with shock. “How much do you suppose they know about it?” she asks quietly, and he simply shakes his head.

“It's hard to say. The Earl is very old; the amount of knowledge he could have gathered over the years is insurmountable. He did fight the original Eve, after all, if legends are to be believed. There is high chance that he knows far more about it than we currently do.”

“Um, excuse me,” Allen interjects gently, feeling somewhat like a child, “But I'm afraid I don't quite follow. I've no idea what this 'Eve' thing is.”

“Eve was the original Apostle,” the older man says suddenly, catching him off guard. “She fought with the Earl thousands of years ago and managed to avoid the destruction of the Earth, but in doing so, lost her life. With the last of her ability she wrote down a testament, and then bestowed her power upon a blessed few. These few are the Apostles that stand today.”

“The term 'Eve' currently refers to one Apostle in particular, who is fabled to have the strongest connection to all Apostles and could hold the fate of the whole war in their hands,” Komui continues, handing Allen a crude diagram depicting what he assumes to be Apostles, linked in the middle by a faceless figure that must be the Eve they're talking about. “It is heavily believed that if Eve dies, all of you follow suit, or something of the sort. If the Earl gets hold of them then the war is as good as over, which is why he is apparently searching for them, probably starting with the Marshals since they're the strongest among you.”

Allen thinks carefully about that, wondering if such a powerful Apostle truly exists. He thinks of the way Kanda had been in battle, Cross' unrivalled strength, and it is suddenly apparent to him just how probable it is. “But if Eve is just one Apostle,” he says slowly, looking over the diagram again before setting it down, “Then why not take extra measures to protect them, or remove them from the war altogether?”

“If only it were so simple,” Komui sighs, linking his hands in front of his mouth. “The thing is, we don't know _who_ Eve is, or if the one bearing that ability is even active right now. There's no way we know of to be able to tell who it is, so the Earl's guess is as good as ours. At first we considered Hevlaska, for obvious reasons, but once we ruled that out it's been an open field from there. Even Hebah can't tell.”

“So if the Earl is targeting the Marshals in search of it,” Lenalee muses, their eyes moving to her, “Then that must mean he knows fairly little about who it could be, right?”

“Yes, which would have been in our favour if he hadn't resorted to his current tactic. As it is, all of the remaining four Marshals are now targets, much moreso than Apostles normally are individually. Which brings me to the nature of your mission.” He straightens up, the older man handing him a few sheets of paper which he looks over briefly before handing one to each of them. “All units have been dispatched in groups and sent to meet with their assigned Marshals for protection until we can figure out a better mode of defence. We considered splitting you up and sending you with different Marshals, but with Allen still...” _Still incapacitated_ , he thinks bitterly, but stays his tongue, “We figure it's better to keep you together for now. The three of you are to head east and meet Marshal Tiedoll and his group somewhere in China as a... I suppose a kind of secondary mission.”

Allen blinks, looking up from the briefing to Komui. “Secondary?” he asks, eyes narrowed, “To what?”

“Well,” Komui says slowly, suddenly apprehensive, “There's still one Marshal we haven't been able to account for, and of course we can't send anyone to protect him if we have no idea where he is, so you're going with Tiedoll until we can gain any information on his whereabouts.”

Allen's stomach drops through the floor as realisation dawns on him, his hands clenching around the fabric of his trousers. “No,” he breathes, and they all give him curious looks. “You can't mean...?”

“Marian?” Komui says easily, and almost smiles. “I most certainly do.”

Any other place, any other time, and Allen would have probably cried.


	7. Pot Luck

The journey across the Middle-East towards China is long and arduous and mostly spent in a perpetual state of duress, between legitimate fears concerning the Earl's attacks and the threat to the Marshals and the significantly less legitimate fear of the sudden need to relocate and reunite with his wayward master. It has been more than a year since Cross disappeared on him and he hasn't heard a single thing from the man since, which could only have been considered as a blessing, but now the Order needs Allen to track him down, and, not only that, but to _protect_ him, which involves watching his every move to make sure he doesn't sod off into thin air again. The first task is finding him to begin with, and Allen reluctantly finds most of his spare time between travel spent in any bars or establishments that he feels his master may have passed through in whatever travels of his own he is undertaking.

It has always been a mystery to Allen just what exactly it is that Cross does whenever he isn't pleasuring himself. In all the years he spent with the man he could never figure out what direction Cross was walking in, if he had any direction at all. There have been a few instances where Allen would be asked to stop by small, creepy stores tucked away in dark alleyways to purchase objects he was never allowed to look at by strange people who were usually more intimidating than not, and he only ever made the mistake of asking once, something he was not quick to forget. The man is a frustrating enigma, and Allen can only hope that he has shrivelled up and died in some far corner of the Earth by now.

The old man that had been with Komui had joined them on their trek eastward, and it becomes apparent within the first few days that he and Lavi have some kind of relation, as if Lavi often calling him 'gramps' is not indication enough. Lenalee helpfully explains that the man is referred to only as 'Bookman', and that he and Lavi are some special kind of historian that spend their lives travelling the world and documenting specific things. He isn't sure why Lavi had never mentioned his mentor or being of what she tells him is the 'bookman clan', but figures that it isn't exactly something that needs to be shared freely, and Allen has never asked.

As the days grow into weeks of traipsing across the continent and Allen grows steadily more hopeful that his master  _has_ died somewhere, Lenalee begins to get curious about the nature of the Marshal they are searching for, and it takes her a surprising total of fifteen days since leaving Spain to ask him about it. “Any word?” she asks him as he steps back through the door of their inn room, having just returned from searching any plausible places in town. He just shakes his head, sighs, and slumps down across one of the beds, staring up at the roof. She laughs at him, somehow cheery in his exhaustion. “Still no luck, then, I see. What is he like, anyway? The Marshal. I've been meaning to ask, since you never talk about him.”

He frowns, sitting up to look at her, but there is only sincere curiosity in her expectant gaze, and he finds it hard to say no to that. “Cross is... many things,” he says, unsure of where exactly to start. Begin with the bigger problems and work his way down to smaller ones, he thinks. “Everything always comes back to  _money_ with him. You can't spend more than five minutes with him without being asked for cash or forced to pay for something. It doesn't help that half of it is spent on his drinking problem and a constant supply of tobacco, and the other half is spent on whores.”

“Whores?” she repeats, as though that is the most key point of the conversation.

“Yes, whores. Most of them end up paying him, though, through some kind of weird money-grubbing scheme he has going where he woos women into an apparent state of ineptitude in which they find themselves stupid enough to just give him things. It's like a magic trick, I don't know how he does it. If only he could use that kind of magic on everybody; it would have saved my hide a fair few times.”

“Why is that, what happened to you?”

“Oh, many things, Lenalee,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Many, many things. You see, no matter how much cash he seemed gather from his various sources, it was somehow never quite enough for anything, and you do _not_ want to see how mad some people can get when they're underpaid for services. I ended up paying most of his debts off myself, and I can only wonder how much more he has accumulated and waiting for me right now. There is never an end to that man's debts. It's like a mobius strip of poverty and labour.”

She hums in thought, watching him like he's telling a story much more interesting than what is actually coming out of his mouth. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but then there is a knock at the door, and as she calls for them to enter Lavi clicks it open and pops his head in. “Is Allen about?” he asks, and Lenalee perks up.

“Yes, he's here,” she says brightly, patting the bed next to her. “Come and sit, he's telling me about the Marshal.”

Lavi's eye lights up, and he steps inside and clicks the door closed behind him. “I've got to hear this,” he says with a grin that Allen feels wary of, walking over to sit beside Lenalee. “What sort of stuff about the Marshal?”

“About how he's a... How did you put it, Allen? A money-grubbing drunk womaniser.”

Allen can't help a small, humoured snort at how well she'd summed it up. “That's about it,” he mutters, linking his fingers and stretching his arms. “Cross in a nutshell, I'd say, stress on the  _nut_ . Though, while I'm loathe to admit it, I suppose I did learn some valuable skills from him.”

“Like what?” Lenalee asks, and Allen nearly laughs at her innocence.

“Like how to avoid debt collectors, how to cheat at gambling, how to use charm and wit to get what you want out of people.”

Lavi clicks his fingers, catching their attention. “Is that why you're so good at poker?” he asks, and Allen nods.

“It was one of the first things I learnt while travelling with him,” he explains, thinking back on it. “I couldn't use my hand that well back then, you see, and Cross thought that cards might be a good way to exercise it, so he began teaching me poker and blackjack and a few other things. Next thing I knew, though, he was teaching me how to cheat, and I can't say it hasn't been useful over the years.”

“That's kind of scary, though,” Lavi mutters, watching him with a speculative eye. “You'd never expect that just by looking at you. Heck, I had no idea until I caught you playing back then.”

“What happened then?” Lenalee asks, and Lavi grins.

“Oh, it was scary, let me tell you. I leave him alone for five minutes and come back to Allen sitting at a table with cards in his hands and a grin on his face, surrounded by naked men.”

She snorts a laugh, covering her mouth to hold in her mirth, Allen frowning at his recount. “You make it sound a lot worse than it was.”

“No, it was that bad, trust me. These things leave long-lasting impressions, Al.”

“Oh my God,” Lenalee breathes, “I _so_ wish I was there to see that. But really, if you got some good skills from him, was it really so bad living with him?”

He stares at her blankly for a moment, then remembers that she doesn't know the horror that is the true Cross Marian. “He is not a pleasant man,” he says lowly, frowning to himself. “The only reasons he would avoid ruining your life were if you were rich, a pretty woman, or both.”

“I suppose Lenalee would be safe then,” Lavi chides, nudging her gently in the side, and she gives him a gentle slap on the thigh despite the grin on her face. He pretends to look hurt for a moment, and then he seems to suddenly recollect something, looking back at Allen. “Oh yeah, I came here for a reason. Gramps wanted to see you.”

“Me?” Allen asks, and Lavi nods, standing up, and then Allen finds himself being dragged from their room to the one next door where the two bookmen are staying. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room between Lavi and Bookman, unsure of what to do or why he is here, and then Bookman waves him over to sit on the bed opposite from him.

“How is your eye?” Bookman asks him as he crosses the room, perching hesitantly on the edge of the mattress.

“There hasn't been any changes,” he replies in what has become his usual response to that question; it often answers any that would typically follow it.

Bookman simply nods, and Allen's eyes flick back to Lavi, who watches with an interested look from the other side of the room. “I've heard much about you within the Order,” Bookman continues, and Allen is not surprised. “Though you can never be quite sure of what is true and what isn't. You are aware of Hevlaska's prophecy for you, yes?”

“Well, yes,” he says slowly, trying to remember what he can of it, “But nobody has told me what exactly that prophecy _is_. All I know is that there is one.”

Bookman's eyes narrow a little, then he glances over at Lavi where he stands against the door, and the younger bookman takes over. “Hevlaska gave a prophecy nearly a year ago now, as she often does, but this one was much clearer and seemingly more important than her previous ones. ' _A boy of snow and a Mark of blood dwells with painted face beyond, a cross on his hand and a curse in his heart. He shall bring forth Destruction, and Destruction shall bring forth the New Age_ .' The first part would be obvious, I guess, but nobody is quite sure about the second.”

Bookman gives a thoughtful hum, Allen's eyes drawn back to him as he speaks. “Many are hoping that you might know something that could shed a little more light on it,” he says, his tone sounding strange on Allen's ears. He notices the way that Bookman says 'many', as though he himself isn't included, and wonders just how much these strange historians know.

“I'm sorry,” he tells them sincerely, “But I'm afraid I don't. It's the first time I've heard that, and I've no idea what the second part means.” It kind of worries him, if he's honest, though he isn't sure why. 'Destruction' seems to him like something that would do more harm than good, even if it will bring about a new age. He recalls something that Cross had said a long time ago, just after he had taken Allen in; _He has seen death before, and he will soon see it again_. He is sure there must have been more, but his memories of that period are hazy at best, what he can remember often slurred together in his mind. That's something else he's going to have to ask Cross if they ever find him.

Bookman has little else to ask him, questioning him briefly about his time at the Order up to now and what he knows about the demons, which is all things that he has explained many times before, and then he lets him go, leaving him on his own to think about this prophecy that has only know been told to him. He wonders why the Order has kept it from him for so long, humouring the thought that perhaps they had just forgotten that he didn't know, which seems likely given Bookman's wording of the question and the general disarray of the Order's superiors (see; Komui Lee). He figures that it's not particularly important right now, with much bigger fish in the sea, and puts it away to ponder over later.

China is much the same as he remembers it, with high mountains and wide, rolling countryside, bustling cities placed intermittently between. Allen is the only one among their group that doesn't know the language, as he is quick to discover, so he sticks close to either Lenalee or Lavi during their travels and is at least glad that he has been here before and knows what the people can be like, in the chance that he might find himself on his own. They make it to Shanghai with no mishaps however, for which he is glad, the sun just beginning to set and the smell of the ocean coming thin through the mixed and heavy scents of the city as they pass through it to where Marshal Tiedoll had said to meet them that morning. He suddenly finds himself nervous, this close to an advancement in their journey and three new people he has to meet, but as they get closer Lenalee seems to notice his apprehension and takes his hand briefly in hers as they walk, squeezing it before she lets him go again, and as he glances across at her she gives him a calming smile.

The first thing he recognises among the group is Kanda, sitting on the ledge of the stone steps with a brooding expression on his face, and then Allen's eyes are drawn to the two older men with him, both bearing the uniform of Apostles. Lenalee brightens up as she sees them, she and Lavi stepping forward to greet them with warm smiles and firm handshakes and a few pats on the shoulders while Allen stands back with Bookman and watches. He briefly catches Kanda's eyes as he rises to his feet, an expression flickering across his face that Allen doesn't have time to place before it is gone again and he is left simply to wonder.

Lenalee beckons him over amidst the conversation and he steps forward to stand by her, taking in the two men before him in a glance; they both seem like warm and friendly people, and he lets himself humour the thought of what it would have been like for them to travel across the world with the dark and grouchy Kanda. “This is Allen,” Lenalee is telling them, seeming happy to be doing introductions. “Allen, this is Noise Marie and Marshal Tiedoll.”

“It's a pleasure to finally be able to meet you,” the Marshal says, holding out his hand, worn from age and use, and Allen takes it in his own.

“Likewise,” he responds with a smile, then moves to shake Marie's outstretched hand as well, but Marie gently takes his hand and turns it over so that the palm faces upward, running his thumb smoothly over the surface of Allen's glove, then lets him go. Allen looks from his hand up to Marie's face, a little taken aback, but he soon finds his explanation in Marie's gentle and slightly misdirected smile and the eyes that he keeps resolutely closed.

He jumps a little as Lavi suddenly rests his arm over Allen's shoulder, leaning on him with a bemused look on his face. “I thought Daisya was with you too,” he muses, and Allen feels them both tense, the air somehow becoming still, a glance behind them proving that Kanda had heard as well, from the way he narrows his eyes and focuses heavily on something in the distance.

Tiedoll clears his throat, and it's easy to tell what is going to follow. “We were caught in a battle in Mongolia,” he explains gently, a sad smile across his lips. “It's likely that a Noah was involved, and Daisya, bless his soul, didn't make it.”

Lenalee places a hand lightly against her mouth, looking down with a dark expression in her eyes, and there is a long pause that follows. “What makes you think it was the Noah?” Bookman asks suddenly, finally breaking the silence.

“Have you heard of the other two Apostles that have been killed?”

“Yeah, Chalker and Kazana, right?” Lavi pipes up, stepping away from Allen with a thoughtful expression. Allen remembers the phone call they had with Komui some days ago when this information had come to light, the expressions on their faces. “Weren't they suspected of being killed by Noah because they both had organs missing?”

Tiedoll nods, scratching his stubble in thought. “Daisya was the same. No external injuries, no signs of entry, but his lungs were clearly torn clean from his chest. No demon has the ability to do that, and a couple of footstaff claim to have seen a man that matches the description of the one you were tracking before this.”

_The one that most likely killed the Marshal_ , Allen thinks sourly, and finds that he is growing to hate the Noah more and more. That's four Apostles that he knows of that have been killed by Noah in the past month or so alone, coupled with the attack that Road had made on he and Kanda. Even if they aren't demons, he needs to defeat them regardless, otherwise more Apostles and more people are likely to die; anticipation and dread sink in his gut in a sickening mixture at the thought of finding one of them, of having to fight them. He is at least going to make sure he's better prepared this time.

They are quick to move off of the topic and on to more imperative matters, such as the current task at hand. Tiedoll explains that they were going to continue heading East, to Korea and then Japan, and they all agree that it's as good a plan as any, so they wander through the city to find a place to stay the night and then head out early the next morning. They manage to find a tavern with enough spare rooms where they settle their things and then split up on a quest to find dinner, most of them choosing to simply eat at the tavern, but Allen feels as though he should fully embrace the cultural experience, and Lavi and Lenalee join him as he wanders through the bustling streets to gawp at vendors and shop fronts and stalls lining cramped alleys and carts by the roadside. They end up buying a few different things from various places, stuffed in paper bags and carried in their arms to munch on as they wander about the city, enjoying the sights that a late night in Shanghai brings.

He has been to this part of town before, he remembers, perhaps more than once; it stands out fairly vividly in his mind, so it can't have been somewhere that he only just passed through, as is usually the case with places he remembers. Cross seems to have rather liked Shanghai, and it only now occurs to him that there is high chance that he may have crossed through here recently. Their wandering brings them to a district that Allen remembers well, namely from a mishap or two that occurred that he is quick to try and forget again, instead focusing on the streets, the buildings, looking for anything he may recognise that stands out among the others. It is not long before he spots a place that he remembers more clearly, and he pauses in front of it, considering whether or not he'll risk going in. “Allen?” Lenalee asks behind him, wondering why he had stopped, “What's wrong?”

“Hold this for a second please,” he says, handing her his bag of food, and then he disappears within the building before she can ask further.

Lavi blinks, a little taken aback by what had just happened. “Did... Did Allen just walk into a brothel?” he asks slowly, humour touching his voice, and Lenalee stifles a laugh.

“I wonder if he knows?” she muses, and Lavi just shrugs, as much at a loss as she is.

Allen returns hardly a minute or two later, a sheet of paper clasped in his hand as he waves to someone within the building, jogging down the front step and back over to the two of them. “Look,” he says proudly, holding up the sheet of paper, Mandarin written in neat print across it, “I got directions to a place that probably knows something about my Master.”

“Wow,” Lavi mutters, taking it from him to read over it. “And here I thought you were actually more of a man than you seemed.”

Allen huffs, taking his things back from Lenalee with a thankful nod. “I am a man,” he says petulantly, then adds, “And even then, I wouldn't go looking in a place like that.”

“Allen, you're only sixteen.”

“A good age for women, Cross says. Though he probably meant the women themselves. Anyway, come on, we should get this done tonight while we're here. Can you read it?”

Lavi goes about deciphering the note for them, but there are a few characters he doesn't recognise that trip him up, so he ends up passing it to Lenalee who directs them to another place only a few streets away from the docks, a much grander building than the one they had just been at. “A woman named Anita, this says,” Lenalee tells them, handing the note back to Allen. “Do you really think she knows something about the Marshal?”

“The woman I spoke to seems to think so. Apparently somebody who looks sort of like him passed through within the last couple of months –hard to miss, thankfully for us right now– and he apparently comes here a lot. I think I may have been here once before, actually, though I didn't go inside.”

“Man, he dragged you all sorts of places, huh?” Lavi teases gently, and Allen makes a face at him. “Go on then, give them a knock.”

“That doesn't sound right considering where we're standing,” he mutters, but he steps up to the door, taking a deep breath, then gives the rough wood a couple of hard knocks. He steps back as they wait, and then the door is pulled open to reveal a woman at least three times his size, towering over him and looking down with ice in her eyes. Allen tries his best not to fidget under her gaze, and she says something in Mandarin, sounding like a question. “Um, excuse me,” he says quietly, clearing his throat and trying to reassert himself. “Uh, we're looking for a woman na--”

She cuts him off a single, sharp laugh that makes him cringe, crossing her arms and almost smiling at him. “A woman?” she says, thankfully in English. He notices her eyes flick down to his chest for a moment, something flickering in her eyes. “We do not have women for the likes of little boys.”

He tries to ignore that comment and focus on the task at hand. “No, you see, we're looking for miss Anita, I was told she--”

The woman suddenly grabs him by the collar of his jacket, hoisting him up with a few startled yelps among them, most coming from Allen. She brings his face close to hers, glowering directly into his eyes, and he suddenly feels as though this was a very, very bad idea, anything relating to Cross is always bad news and he should have known that, he shouldn't have come here at all. “Back entrance,” she breathes lowly, and he blinks, but before he can gather any more she puts him back down and slams the door in their faces.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Lavi says after a moment, patting Allen down. “Did she hurt you?”

“No, no,” he assures, dusting himself off, “But I think this may be what we've been looking for after all.”

They both follow him around to the back of the building, where another (slightly less) intimidating woman stands guard by the single, unassuming door there. She eyes them all strangely, and then the first woman opens the door from within the building, murmuring something to the guard before ushering them in. He doesn't hesitate in fear of wasting their time and steps inside, Lavi and Lenalee close behind as they follow the woman through the halls and up a couple of flights of stairs. The building smells of incense and some kind of flower, masking the scent that he is sure it would otherwise carry. “Do not be alarmed,” she tells them after a long silence, almost startling him again. “We know who you are, and we are on your side. I am Mahoja.” She pauses only to flick them a small smile, then continues across the third floor, much more exuberantly laid out than the last two had been. This is clearly somewhere very expensive, Allen thinks, and figures that's just like Cross. If he's been anywhere, it would have been here.

Mahoja leads them to a set of wide double-doors, flowers carved into the red wood in neatly painted gold, pushing them open with a practised air of ceremony. All three of them have to hold back gasps as they step in, taking in the astounding beauty of the room; the walls are covered with wallpaper in soft colours and floral patterns, a couple of pillars placed evenly around the wide room with carvings in the smooth marble surface, and in the centre sits an exquisitely dressed woman among pillows and silks, watching them with a gentle smile. He hears Lavi mutter something behind him. “Welcome, Apostles,” the woman says, and Allen suddenly understands why Cross has frequented this place so often. She gives a nod to Mahoja, who bows before stepping outside, closing the doors behind her. “It is my understanding that you have been looking for me?”

Allen has to swallow before he speaks, remembering what they'd come here for. “Yes, um. I take it you're miss Anita?” he asks, just to be sure, and she nods. “Me and my friends are looking for someone, and we've heard that you might know where he is. Have you ever met Cross Marian?”

_Bingo_ , he thinks, watching as her eyes widen in recognition. “You are looking for Marian?” she asks, and her tone makes him uneasy; it sounds as though bad news is about to follow it, and he hates when bad news follows mentions of Cross. “I am... afraid he is not here. He came here nearly two months ago, but he left on a boat for Japan a week later.”

Why would Cross be going to Japan? While Allen was with him Cross never once even mentioned Japan, even in all their travels across virtually every other country, so why now? “Do you know why he was heading there?” he asks her, hoping that this information isn't all there is to this endeavour.

She shakes her head, placing a hand thoughtfully to her painted lips. “No, he never told me. But you will not find him there.”

This confuses him, and he glances back at his two friends, who both seem about as perplexed as he is. “And why is that?”

“The ship that Marian took, it was... attacked, I heard, though I am not sure by what. I received word some weeks ago of it having sunk, with no found survivors.”

He hears Lenalee take a breath behind him, and he feels his own heart sink, but he doesn't allow it to; if there is one thing Cross is good at, it's disappearing. “I'm sure he's still alive,” he says firmly, and they all look at him, wide-eyed. “I know him, and unless you find a body, there's no way he's actually dead. I'm sure he made it to Japan for whatever he was planning to do there.”

Anita looks almost relieved, but she's hesitant about it, as though she isn't sure she should believe it or not. Hearing something like that from a man like himself, though, Allen can understand her apprehension. “You believe so?” she asks quietly, and he nods.

“We're going to go to Japan, and we're going to find him, whether he wants us to or not. Rest assured, we'll find him alive.”

She breathes a gentle sigh of relief, delicately wiping away the mist that had begun to fill her eyes. “I will believe you,” she tells them, “And trust you to find him. I have a ship currently in the docks, and I will tell my men to prepare. Please, take it to Japan. It is the least I can do.”

He blinks, at first wondering why she would have her own ship, and then wondering why she is allowing them to use it, especially when one heading out there has already been attacked. “Are you sure?” he asks incredulously, taken aback. “I mean, for us to use your ship, it's... it's too much.”

“Not to mention that it's dangerous out there,” Lavi adds behind him, apparently having been on much the same train of thought, “Especially for us. If Cross' ship was attacked, there's a high chance that they'll try and get us too. If we're on your ship, that makes it a target.”

“I am aware of the risks,” Anita says, “And I am prepared to take them. My family has been supporters of the Black Order since its founding days, and has even fallen victim to the demons in the past. I know what they can do, as do my men. Sometimes, Apostles, risks must be taken in order to surpass them.”

He knows that look in her eyes; it is one that he has seen many times before, a look of will and determination. There is nothing more they can say that could deter her, and he has to admit that use of a ship is ample opportunity. “Thank you,” he says, as sincerely as he can, giving her a bow. “We're in your debt for this.”

She simply smiles at them, as though they are the ones doing her a favour, and Allen hopes that he can actually keep his word. She asks them all to wait downstairs as she sorts some final things out before they go, so they head back down to the rear door of the establishment to wait until Mahoja steps out to give them a sheet of paper with directions to where Anita's ship is docked, explaining that the crew will be ready the day after tomorrow. “We wish you luck,” she tells them all, shaking each of their hands in turn, and they thank her and Anita again before beginning to make their way back to the inn.

“Do you really believe that?” Lavi asks after the long silence that had followed them through the streets, and Allen looks up at him, confused. “That the Marshal is alive, I mean. Do you believe it, or were you just saying that?”

Lenalee seems just as curious, watching Allen with a careful eye, and he wonders if he hadn't shown enough conviction. “There's no way that he died out there,” he says quietly, a despondent smile crossing his lips. “It takes much more than that to kill him. Besides, I believe that he may have been headed there for a reason, and if he has a goal, he's virtually unstoppable. He's alive.”

“Why do you believe that so strongly?” Lenalee asks, genuinely curious about his thoughts. “You seem to think that he can't die.”

“Oh, I know he can die. He's still human, despite how demonic he can be. I just know how hard it is to kill him; if there was anything that could kill him that easily, then we'd probably all be in trouble.”

Little else is said over the short trip back to the inn, and to their surprise they find Tiedoll and Marie sitting on the street just outside the building, a drawing board in the Marshal's hands and charcoal all over his fingers. Marie mutters something to him as they step up, and Tiedoll looks up at them, smiling. “Oh, you're back!” he exclaims, as though they had been gone days rather than hours. “Where have you three been?”

“Finding Cross,” Allen says proudly, holding up the written note from Anita, and they both look at him in surprise. “He's somewhere in Japan. There's a private ship that's going to be ready to take us there the day after tomorrow.”

Tiedoll blinks owlishly behind his thick frames, sitting back and looking over the three of them curiously. “Well,” he says, giving them a warm smile, “Then I suppose we're going to Japan.”

They spend the next day making sure they have everything they'd need before setting out the following morning, checking supplies and tying up any loose ends and informing headquarters of the situation. Komui seems glad that they finally have a lead on Cross, but warns them all to be careful; “Japan has been closed off for centuries,” he explains, “There's no telling what may be waiting there.” Allen is not the only one who has a bad feeling about this, it seems, as even the easy-going Lavi often has a strangely thoughtful look on his face and spends more time working with Bookman than he had previously been doing. Fear sits ample in all of them, but if it's a step forward, they have no choice but to take it. He just hopes that they are actually able to find Cross and bring him back with minimal disruptions, but he knows that their luck is not that great.

The ship is much larger and more grand than he had been expecting, neatly kept and polished and seeming far too expensive for a few worn Apostles to take into dangerous waters. The crew greet them all with cheers and handshakes and a lot of patting on the back, boisterous voices to go with boisterous smiles and loud personalities. “As you would expect from sailors,” Lavi says, seeming much at ease with the environment and perhaps even getting a little swept up in the vigour. At least most of their group seem to get along well enough with the crew, considering the time that they will be stuck on a boat together. They set sail almost as soon as everything is loaded, and while Allen has been on many a boat before, especially in his time at the Order, watching the coast of Shanghai draw away and the ocean grow larger around them feels somehow definitive, heavy, like a milestone in the tangled mess his life has become. Perhaps it is the knowledge that this trip will lead them to Cross, finally and yet too soon, the thought of what lies for them at the other side heavy in his mind.

Most of the boats he has sailed on recently have been only short trips, a day or so at most, and he has forgotten what it is like to be at sea for days on end, nothing around him but the ocean crashing in his ears and the salt air in his lungs. The ocean has always been calming to him, and he has never been sure why; he had only seen it once before he began travelling with Cross, yet it has always felt somehow nostalgic. It especially helps when his eye begins to act out, as it seems to be doing more often these days, in which case he would sit up on deck and close his eyes and listen to the waves lap at the ship until it passes. Lenalee often sits with him during these times, as he imagines Lavi would if he weren't so occupied with learning every inch of the ship, sometimes chatting with him as they watch the skies pass by overhead or the ocean tumble beneath them, but most often she is silent, a warm presence beside him, and he can never really find the words to express his gratitude.

“Kanda loves the ocean, too,” she tells him one time, just as the pain in his skull is beginning to ebb away. He looks over to where she sits beside him, their backs against the edge of the deck, a smile on her face as she watches the clouds. “Which is funny, considering he can't swim.” Ironic, Allen thinks, a man who commands water being unable to swim, but then he remembers the way Kanda looks when it rains, the harsh spark in his eyes dimming enough to be almost calm.

“I haven't seen him around much,” he muses aloud, the little he has seen of Kanda since they left China being only brief encounters and the wordless nights in their cabin room, Lavi enough to fill the space between them. There is something about the look in Kanda's eyes whenever they fall on him that makes him feel guilty of something, though he isn't sure what it could be. “I think he might be trying to avoid me.”

Lenalee gives a thoughtful hum, playing absently with the sleeve of her jacket as she thinks. “Well, considering your run of bad luck with him, I wouldn't be surprised if he was,” she says, giving him something of an apologetic smile. “You two haven't exactly hit it off.”

She's right, he knows; the most cordial Kanda has ever been with him was between when they met and when they first fought demons together. It's been nothing but trouble whenever they are left alone together since, and he can't help feeling somehow responsible. “I suppose so,” he replies, absently massaging the muscles around his eye. “I guess he's still mad at me.”

“He feels guilty,” somebody says beside them, and they both look up to find Marie walking up to stand beside them, giving them both smiles. “It's part of our job to look out for other Apostles, to keep them safe, and he failed to do that. In my opinion, I'm sure it was something that likely could not have been prevented, but Kanda is a little harder to persuade. He blames himself for what happened to you.”

Allen is hesitant to believe that, especially with the way Kanda treats him, but Marie's words replay themselves in his mind, and the next time he sees Kanda, registers the emotion in the careful hardness of his eyes, it begins to make sense. Kanda devotes himself to the job, as Lavi had told him all those months ago, and failing in that job must bother him more than Allen had assumed it would. He is reminded, once again, of just how little he understands.

There is a night where he dreams of a town in the south, pale sandstone houses lining cobbled streets with the sky vast and blue above him. There is no breeze here, yet he can still feel the wind in his hair, picking its way between his bare fingers. It feels like home, and he closes his eyes, lets it whisper in his mind. Something flutters by his ear and his eyes snap open, something black floating past him, and as he turns to follow it he realises that it is a butterfly, one that should not belong here. It leads his eyes to the man that stands watching him, impeccably dressed with an easy smile on their dark lips. “Boy,” he says, the butterfly landing like an ornament on the brim of his hat. He steps forward in slow, languid steps, picking the cigarette from his lips and tossing it aside. “How would you like to die?”

Before Allen can speak there is something in his chest, and at first he thinks it is fear, cold and smoky inside him, but the fear rises separately, lower in his gut, and he looks down to find a hand in his chest. He can feel it as it moves seamlessly through his insides, passing through him like a ghost, fingers closing around his heart like icy tendrils. “No,” he breathes, tearing his eyes from the arm in his chest to lay on the eyes like gold before him. “You can't. Not now.”

The man smiles, and his breath catches in his throat as the fingers touch the pulsing muscle of his heart, beating erratically within his grip. “Good night,” he says, and Allen watches as his heart is torn clean from his chest.

He wakes up hot and dizzy, gasping in the stifling air of the cabin as he sits up. His heart thumps in his chest and he takes comfort in the feeling of it, taking a moment to just  _breathe_ , and it is not until he feel something around his hand that he realises somebody is there. “Jesus,” Lavi breathes, keeping his voice low. He takes his hand away, holding both of them up. “It's just me, Allen, relax. You alright?”

The adrenaline is already beginning to wear off, at least. He swallows, glancing around in the gloom, the moonlight filtering through the window to his left and Kanda still sleeping to his right. “Um. Yes, I'm sorry, I didn't--” He cuts off as pain surges in his head, his eye giving him its full wrath after the stress of the dream, and he hisses through his teeth as he presses his palm into it, hoping to dull it, wondering why it is so harsh now.

Lavi mutters a curse, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Al?” he says quietly, seeming unsure of what to do as Allen doubles over. “Deep breaths, buddy, try and relax.”

“Outside,” he grinds out, and thankfully Lavi understands, helping him up and out of the cabin, supporting him as they head up to the deck where Allen slouches down just beside the door, Lavi sitting tentatively beside him. He focuses on breathing, trying to will the pain away, and when that doesn't work he casts his mind to the ocean, the waves against the ship and the wind biting at his bare skin. It is quiet as the heat in his skull begins to subside, dimming enough that he is able to think straight, and he eventually brings himself to speak. “I'm sorry, Lavi,” is the first thing he says, incurring a curious green eye. “I didn't mean to bother you.”

Lavi simply scoffs, a small smile on his face. “No bother, Al, no bother. It seemed like you were dreaming something nasty, though, are you sure you're alright?”

“Yes,” he replies slowly, his fingers curling in his hair where his hand covers his eye, “Yes, I'm fine. It was... a little jarring, sure, but it's fine.” He can't shake the feeling that he knows that man from somewhere, though, but he is currently unable to place where from. Perhaps it will come to him once he's calmed down and has a clearer mind. Lavi makes a thoughtful noise beside him, but stays quiet, a long silence stretching over them before he speaks again.

“More importantly, I suppose,” he begins, and Allen glances over to him, concerned about what will follow. “Your eye has been getting worse lately, hasn't it? Have you had it looked at recently?”

Allen frowns, averting his eyes as he sighs. “No,” he concedes, “Not since we left headquarters. It hasn't really been a problem up to now.”

Lavi gives him an unimpressed noise, then rocks to his feet, Allen watching as he stretches his back. “You should get Bookman to take a look at it in the morning, see if it's anything we can fix. Are you going to head back in, or are you staying out here?”

“I think I'll stay here for a while,” he replies, and Lavi gives him a curious look before shrugging.

“Alright, well I'm going to go back to bed. I hope we didn't wake up Yū, that could be nasty.” Allen watches him as he steps back inside, the door clicking quietly shut behind him, before he casts his eyes back out in front of him, the boat stretching open before him and the sky stretching even further. He is nervous, now, much moreso than he had been; he can't help feeling as though he is receiving some kind of warning, his body telling him to turn back where his conscious mind knows he cannot. There is something waiting for them that could be worse than anything they've faced before, and he's not sure how he knows it.

He's not the only one who is nervous, at least; all the others are as well, writ into their faces as they gather on the deck to watch the shores of Japan creep closer on the horizon. Most of them are thoughtful in their expressions, trying to imagine what lies in wait, but there are exceptions to this; Lavi who looks strangely ill, knuckles white where they grasp the banister, Kanda who watches the land grow larger with determination, as though he is prepared to fight the very island itself, Lenalee with concern and apprehension in her features and her eyes often casting over the people around her. Allen's eye aches beneath its covering, and he briefly touches his fingers to it in what is fast becoming habit.

The docks are empty when they finally moor the ship, the few other boats around them sitting dusty and unused in the water and the town before them eerily void of any movement. The crew say that they're going to stay by the docks, to stock up and prepare the ship for when they'll next need it, and after much discussion with the captain it is decided that the Apostles will go ahead, so they find themselves walking through the city with tension thick between them, expecting demons at any moment; the place is too empty, too void. “Maybe it's abandoned,” Lenalee offers, but it wouldn't make sense for it to be. Aside from the boats in the harbour everything else is too clean and fresh, as though the town's occupants had simply left for a day trip.

“Or maybe it's a ghost town,” Tiedoll replies, seeming far too peppy for the current mood, and proceeds to go on a tangent about how plausible it would be for the city to be inhabited by ghosts while Lenalee shares her own opinions on how that could work and Kanda rolls his eyes behind them. At first Allen finds the topic of conversation inappropriate in their situation, then remembers what these people have been through, what they have learned. _Appreciate the small things_ , Lavi had told him. He glances behind him to where Lavi and Bookman keep pace, muttering quietly to each other while Lavi looks about ready to throw up. Maybe he is just less adjusted to sailing than Allen had thought.

They stop once they reach the edge of town a few hours later, hills and trees sprawling out before them, and they decide that now is as good a time as any to talk seriously about the predicament. They settle themselves on the pavement in the closed space between a couple of buildings right on the edge of the city, keeping themselves hidden from view as they try to think of their next course of action. “Since there's nobody here,” Lenalee begins thoughtfully, “Then I suppose we'd have to move on to the next town to try and see if we can find the Marshal, right?”

“That would seem to be the most obvious course of action,” Tiedoll agrees, leaning back against the wall of the building. “I doubt we'll find any clues here, in any case.”

“There is high chance that we're stepping into a trap,” Marie states, and Tiedoll gives a thoughtful hum.

Allen unwittingly tunes them out, preoccupied with the steadily rising ache in his skull. It is not a sharp wave like he has been getting in the past, one that passes within ten minutes and leaves him be; ever since they came into sight of Japan it has been low and constant, like an old scar, slowly growing in intensity until it has become just as bad as the waves were, and it makes no sign of ever planning to lessen. “Allen?” he hears, and he snaps back to attention, finding that most of their eyes are on him, Lenalee's especially. “Are you alright?” she asks, reaching a hand up to touch his where he presses his fist into his eye, and he instinctually pulls back from her.

“Yes,” he tells her, taking her hand in his free one and bringing it down, “I'm alright. I just got distracted, I'm sorry.”

She huffs, unwilling to let it go. “Don't be like that,” she says quietly, frowning at him. “If it hurts, you shouldn't be afraid to say so.”

“Lenalee, really, I'm--”

“ _Found you_ ,” somebody sings in his mind, and he glances down just as the ground opens up beneath him and swallows him whole.

 


	8. The Chosen Ones

He opens his eyes to a sky wide and blue and clear of clouds and buildings towering flat and white and naggingly familiar around him, stone pressing cool and hard into his back. He had hardly blinked, a split second of darkness between the dull streets of Japan and here, and yet he is now somewhere else entirely. Had he, in actuality, blacked out? Had the feeling of falling been his consciousness dropping away from him? There was no feeling of grogginess, no indication that he'd been sleeping, only the dull pain in his head and an ache in his backside from hitting the ground.

“What the fuck,” somebody says gruffly beside him, and his head whips around to see the three other people picking themselves up off the ground, the voice registering in his mind as belonging to Kanda, already on his feet and drawing his sword, cobalt eyes flicking around their surroundings.

“I'll say,” Lavi replies, helping Lenalee up with a hand before brushing himself off. “It looks like we're somewhere in south Europe, but there's something not right about it.”

Kanda relents in his search for danger only to shoot Lavi a glare. “What, like the fact that there's no way we could be in Europe? Nice call, that's real helpful.”

“Kanda, relax,” Lenalee says, smoothing out her skirt, and then she glances back at Allen, still sitting on the floor and watching them with wide eyes. “Allen? Are you alright?”

He snaps to attention then, jumping to his feet. “Yeah, sorry, I'm just... a little confused,” he tells her, giving the area a cursory scan and keeping his senses piqued for any danger. “What exactly happened?”

Kanda lowers his sword a little, looking away from them while Lenalee gives a thoughtful hum. “Well, we were sitting in that alley, and then this... hole, I think, opened up beneath you, and since I was sitting so close I guess I got dragged in, and then Lavi and Kanda jumped in after us and it dumped us here? I'm not so sure.”

“Guys,” Lavi says, drawing their attention, and they all look over to where he is inspecting something on the door of one of the buildings. He gently pulls off an envelope that had been taped to the door and turns to them as he opens it, pulling out a folded piece of paper and reading over it. “I think we've been had.”

Lenalee frowns, walking closer to read over his shoulder. “What do you mean?” she asks cautiously, giving up on reading it to take the envelope from him and investigate its insides, pulling out what looks like a small brass key.

“Listen to this; ' _While you are soon destined for death, we figured you were too much fun to simply kill straight away, so we've decided to play a little game with you first. Enclosed is a key that you will need to advance through the Ark; using it in a door will activate it and, after a series of adjoining rooms, you will be led up to the central tower. I advise you to work quickly. This Ark is currently disintegrating, and will be gone entirely in merely three hours. Try not do dawdle, my dear Allen; I'm looking forward to killing you myself._ ' It's signed by Road Kamelot.”

“Road the Noah? So this is their doing?”

“That's the only conclusion we can draw. I'm more interested in this 'Ark', to be honest, but I suppose now isn't the time. Yū, what are you doing?”

They all glance over to where Kanda is climbing up to the roof of one of the buildings, standing on the flat roof to get a better look at their surroundings, and then something catches his eye, his gaze focused hard on something in the distance. “We need to get a move on,” he mutters, dropping back down to the ground and stepping over to them. “They weren't lying. It's slow, but it will be here in about twenty minutes.”

Lavi and Lenalee both blink, confused. “What will?” Lenalee asks, glancing past him as though she will be able to see from there.

“The disintegration. It's creeping towards us right now, so grab that key and shove it in a bloody door already.”

“I know this place,” Allen mutters, and all three pairs of eyes fall on him. It has been bugging him ever since he registered the scenery, standing before him like an old friend he had been unable to remember the name of. “I've been here before, but I can't remember when.”

It is silent for a long moment, the three of them watching him with mixed curiosity and confusion, and then Kanda is the first to speak. “Do you know any of the streets?” he asks, more focused on any advantage they might have rather than what exactly it could mean.

Allen thinks carefully, stepping forward and holding his hand out to Lenalee, who places the key in his palm. He turns it over in his fingers for a moment, the surface old and scratched but still neatly polished. “Maybe,” he murmurs, looking up at the buildings around him, and then he begins walking, heading for a building he isn't even sure of.

“Alright, hold up,” Lavi says as they all fall into step beside him, stepping up to keep pace with him. “Road said it would work in any door, right? We activate it and pass through and end up at the tower. Does it matter if we know the streets?”

“They're Noah,” Allen replies simply, “It's never as simple as that. Here.” He stops outside of a building that looks just the same as all the others, the worn wooden door sitting resolutely closed, and he takes a deep breath before slipping the key into the small hole beneath the handle. He turns it, and there is a heavy click, the door trembling beneath his hand, and when he glances back up there is the number 'one' painted in black on the surface of the wood.

“Huh,” Lavi mutters, furrowing his brow. “I guess this is the first door.”

Allen removes the key and tries the handle, the door swinging open in his grip, and they step through into open, mountainous terrain, loose gravel beneath their feet and large rocks cropping up from the ground around them. “Am I the only one who thinks that this is really weird?” Lenalee asks, eyes wide as she surveys the area.

“Maybe the Noah can do magic?” Lavi suggests, seeming more interested than off-put by the current string of odd events. “I mean, there was the weird room Allen and Yū got stuck in, Noah pulling organs out without opening the body... I wouldn't put teleportation past them.”

The door clicks shut behind them, and a light goes off in Allen's head, suddenly placing where he knows that town from; it was the same town that had been in his dream, the same white buildings and the same clear sky and the same still air in his lungs. All that was missing was the dark-skinned man that he swears he has met once before, but it still doesn't explain why he had known which door to use, which direction to go. There is something strange about this Ark, and he is only growing more and more uneasy about it, the ache in his eye becoming more prominent as though in response to his fear.

“Are you sure that was the right door?” Lavi asks as they begin to wander through the landscape, all of them wary and on edge.

“Yes,” he replies, though he still doesn't know why he is so sure. “I imagine that there will be another door somewhere up ahead.”

“I hope you're right, this place gives me the creeps.” They continue in what they hope is a straight line for a good fifteen minutes, nothing but rocks and gravel around them, and they are beginning to get impatient just as they reach the crest of a hill, and Lavi grins. “That's the ticket,” he beams, and the other three follow his gaze to the small building sitting just over the next hill, relief flooding over them as they head down towards it with renewed vigour.

Allen's eye begins to throb the closer they get to the building, still some ways away from it, and he is worried about what it means, what lies on the other side of the next door, but his thoughts are cut off as Kanda catches their attention. “Wait,” he says, his tone low and dangerous, and they all stop to glance back at him; he's nervous, Allen notices, much moreso than even himself, sword drawn and ready and eyes flicking over everything in sight. A long moment of silence passes over them, the three of them growing more agitated as Kanda only becomes more frustrated. “Come out and fight, you bastard!” he yells suddenly, making the others jump, Kanda frantically searching for something they have yet to catch on to.

“Yū, what are you--” Lavi begins, but then Allen cries out, collapsing to his knees as his face suddenly burns, screaming in his skull and down his spine and deep in his brain. Lavi lets out a curse, he and Lenalee kneeling down beside him, Lavi's hand firm on his shoulder. “Allen, what happened? Talk to me, buddy.”

“Lavi,” Lenalee hisses, glancing behind them. “Lavi, look.”

Allen forces his eyes open to see what she's talking about, blinking away the moisture that had welled in his good eye and catching sight of a man standing at the crest of the hill, larger than any man he'd seen, built like a fortress and probably about as strong. “About time,” Kanda sneers at them, and there is a flash of white as the man grins, flexing his hands at his sides, something blue flashing between his fingers. Kanda glances back at the three of them only briefly, something flickering in his eyes that Allen can't make out. “Keep going,” he tells them, and Lenalee's breath catches in her throat. “I'm going to stay and kill this bastard.”

The man gives a single, short laugh, loud and rough and deep in his throat. “I'm looking forward to you trying,” he says, and as the blue light flickers again, this time arcing from his fingers to the ground, Allen places that it looks like lightning, crackling from his fingertips, and he can only assume that this is a Noah. “We can't leave you to fight on your own,” he tells Kanda, his voice hoarse from the attack as he tries to focus on the problem before him rather than within him.

“Like hell you won't,” Kanda quips back, keeping his eyes focused on the Noah before them. “I can kill him on my own, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.”

“Kanda, you'll be killed,” Lenalee shouts at him, and his hands clench tighter around his sword in response. “There's no telling how long it will be before this place starts to disintegrate, or if you'll even be able to kill a Noah like that. We're not leaving you.”

“I'm not losing to these bastards again,” he growls, and suddenly Allen understands. Road had caught him off guard, managed to get him down, and now he has made the resolve to stand strong against her and the rest of the Noah clan. And when he is determined enough, there is naught that can stop him.

Lavi seems to understand as well, reaching up to take Lenalee's hand. She glances back at them both, recognition in her eyes, and while she looks even more torn about it than Lavi or Allen are, she knows what they have to do. “Just promise you'll join up with us later,” she tells him, cringing a little as the sparks of lightning from the Noah begin to become audible, sharp cracks in the still air.

“Yeah, fine,” Kanda mutters eventually, “Now get the fuck out of here.”

“Allen, can you stand?” Lavi asks, and he nods in response, but when he tries he finds that his head is too hazy, too sultry, and Lavi curses again before he simply picks Allen up, hefting him over his shoulder and making for the door with Lenalee close in tow. They can hear the booming laughter of the Noah as another loud crack breaks the air, and Allen silently wishes Kanda luck as he awkwardly fishes around in his pocket for the key to hand to Lavi as they finally come up to the door.

They stop once they are on the other side of it, Lavi setting Allen down on the ground and sitting down beside him to catch his breath back. “He'll be fine,” he says as he looks up at Lenalee's worried face, giving her a smile, and she meekly returns it, her eyes moving from the door to Lavi and finally to Allen. Lavi follows her gaze to where Allen sits beside him with his hands clamped over his eyes, breath coming heavy between his teeth. “Moreover, are _you_ going to be alright? This is the worst I've ever seen it.”

It's the worst he's ever had it, but he can already feel it beginning to recede, taking careful breaths from deep in his chest and focusing on anything but the pain. “I'll be fine,” he replies, careful to keep his voice even. “It just took me by surprise. We need to keep moving.”

They both seem dubious as he drags himself to his feet, but they let it drop as the three of them begin heading down the long corridor they've found themselves in, a staircase visible at the far end that leads up and around a corner they can't see from where they currently stand. The corridor is strangely well lit considering the lack of torches along the walls or on the ceiling, as though the sun shone even here, the ground carrying no shadows as they walk across it. The staircase leads upwards in an endless spiral, twisting towards the sky for what feels like miles. Lenalee and Lavi become steadily more complacent the longer they climb, even if they don't mean to; it feels like this stairwell goes on forever, and while the likelihood of it ending increases the longer they walk, time makes people weary. While they still stay high on their guard, their complacence begins to show, the two of them making idle chatter to fill the heavy silence and cover the echo of their boots on the stone.

Allen has no such luxuries, having to focus on simply putting one foot in front of the other without tripping up the stairs. His pain had receded for a time, but has only begun to come back in full force, growing steadily the more they ascend. He is beginning to have a growing suspicion of what it means, of what it's reacting to, and he can only hope that he is wrong, that he is somehow mistaken, but as they finally come before a door at the top of the staircase and he is hardly able to see through the pain, he can't shake the nagging feeling that he's right.

“Finally,” Lavi says, huffing a sigh and turning on his heel. “Allen, hand us the key?” It takes him a moment to register the request, neither of them oblivious to the way he leans his shoulder against the wall to keep himself steady as he fishes around in his pockets for the key, holding it out to Lavi once he finds it, looking up to meet his dubious green eye. “Alright, let me take a look at your eye,” he says, and before Allen can protest Lavi's hand is strong on his shoulder, holding him there while he pulls down the patch that now covers his left eye.

It looks exactly the same as it always has, a film of black covering whatever would have been left of his eyeball beneath it. Allen reluctantly lets Lavi poke at it, not bothering to hide his distaste as Lavi inspects, Lenalee peering over his shoulder to get a good look while she can. “There must be some reason it's acting up,” she muses, Lavi only giving a thoughtful hum in response.

Allen has the nagging suspicion that he knows exactly why, but he isn't sure what to tell them. All he knows is that it is not just reacting randomly now, as it had previously been doing; it now aches with purpose, a warning to him of something awful the same way it had warned him of the demons. It is trying to warn him of the presence of something dangerous, something unholy. “It's the Noah,” he breathes, shaky from the pain. They both freeze, eyes going wide as they look at him, a brief glance shared between them. “It's warning me about the Noah.”

He looks up into confused and worried eyes, blue and green and showing sincere concern. “How do you know?” Lavi asks carefully, seeming dubious of Allen's hypothesis but not as much as he would be if he didn't believe it.

“The curse knows, somehow. It's been telling me this whole time, on our way across Asia, on the ship, before we fell into the Ark. And when the one that Kanda is fighting showed up, it reacted more strongly than ever. It's always been... It's known all along that the Noah were after us. Even now, it knows we're coming close to one, which means that there's probably a Noah on the other side of that door.”

It is silent for a moment, Allen's breathing heavy in his ears as the two of them think it over, considering. “I don't believe it,” Lavi murmurs, seeming awestruck by it all, before he composes himself again. “Still, are you even able to fight them?”

Allen looks up to meet their eyes, suddenly defiant at the query. “Yes,” he says, as firmly as he can, straightening himself up to try and back up his claim, reaching up to replace his eyepatch.

“Lavi's right,” Lenalee says softly, more gentle in her concern but no less worried. “With the state you're in, I doubt you'll be able to fight very well.”

“I can fight them,” he bites, taking the key from Lavi's hand and stepping forward to insert it into the door. It clicks when he turns it, the number three coming into focus on the surface of the door, and he turns to give them both a smile. “When the time comes, I'll be ready. We're going to defeat these Noah, and we're all going to get out of this alive.”

They share a look between them, dubious of that statement and his condition and reminded of Kanda's battle, worried for his safety, but they seem to decide on letting it go to work on the task at hand. “Well, it's not like we have a choice,” Lavi sighs, running a hand over his hair. “We're stuck in here until we beat them, after all.”

He nods towards the door, Allen's hand still clasped around the handle. Allen glances over at Lenalee, seeking her opinion, and while she looks hesitant, she nods. “We should keep going,” she says quietly, giving him a small smile.

He turns back to the door, taking a deep breath, then pushes it open. It creaks a little on its hinges as it opens, the three of them stepping through to find themselves in what looks like a small library, shelves lining the round room with a glass window running the height of the room to their left, sunlight filtering in and casting shadows over the table and the pair of armchairs beside it. It is from one of these chairs that a girl launches herself towards them, and before Allen can register what she's doing there are arms flung around his neck and unbalanced weight causing him to take a step backwards. “Allen!” she says excitedly, placing a kiss on his cheek before she steps back, and the moment she is far enough away for him to see her face is the moment that he is imbued with rage.

“Road,” he grinds out, and recognition dawns on Lavi and Lenalee's faces.

“This is Road?” Lenalee asks, sounding as dubious of her appearance as Allen had been at first. The body of a fourteen-year-old girl doesn't exactly strike fear into a person, but at least Allen knew better, could feel how dangerous she was. He supposed the curse had known then, too.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Road chirps, stepping far enough away that she is out of immediate range if they decide to attack. She's not stupid, after all. “Even if you weren't supposed to be here.”

“What do you mean?” Allen asks her, watching her carefully as she begins to pace.

“We were only after you when we pulled you into the Ark, Allen. But look at how many of your friends jumped in after you! I was honestly surprised. It's why we had to send Skinn in, but then you surprised me again by leaving that guy behind to fight him off for you. I'd say it was heroic of him, if it wasn't so stupid.”

It dawns on him that if the others hadn't come with him, that if he had been on his own here, then that Noah wouldn't have appeared and Kanda wouldn't have fought him, and it makes him feel guilty, puts the weight of the outcome on his own shoulders. “Call him off,” he says lowly, hands clenching at his sides.

She laughs, the same harsh cackles that he remembers so clearly from that night in Denmark. “Sorry, no dice!” she sings, leaning back against one of the chairs. “They're both long gone. Even if your friend had survived, the room has already disintegrated. There's nothing left of them. But hey, at least he managed to defeat Skinn before he disappeared into oblivion.”

“You bitch,” he growls, taking a step forward, but Lenalee touches his arm, mouths the word 'wait' when he glances back to look at her before casting his eyes back to Road. She shrugs, as though entirely nonplussed by his anger and this turn of events; he wonders if all Noah are this cold. “Why are we even here?”

“Didn't you read my letter?” she asks, and he clamps his mouth shut. “To have fun with you before we kill you. You're a very interesting Apostle, after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Careful, dear, you'll pull something. You're not looking so good as it is. I can't tell you exactly, family secret and all, but what I _can_ tell you is that you're one of the biggest players on the board. Taking you out will make things a lot easier for us, and the most interesting way to do that was sticking you in here to watch you squirm before we got more... up close and personal, you could say.”

“Why are you doing this?” Lenalee asks, somehow managing to keep herself composed. “You're not demons, so what do the Noah have to do with all of this?”

Road's smile shifts a little, less malicious and more thoughtful. “I just want to see this whole fucked up world destroyed,” she says, far too easily for the weight of the statement. “That, and the Earl is part of my family. If he wants a few false prophets out of the way, then I'm more than happy to oblige.”

“False prophets?” Lavi asks cautiously, the first he's spoken since they stepped into the room. Allen glances behind him to see Lavi tense and uneasy, a rare sight on the ever-peppy Apostle.

She just cackles, loud and obnoxious. “You're not the chosen ones!” she laughs exasperatedly, as though telling a child that the world isn't flat. “You think you're chosen by God to save the planet, but He probably couldn't care less about roaches like you. Allen is the only one with an even remotely interesting prophecy, and we're still going to kill him anyway. You want to know why? Because you're _worthless_ , all of you. We've killed six of you in the past two months alone, and we're only just getting started. Seven, if you include your boy-toy downstairs.”

“Shut up,” Allen hisses through his teeth, his nails digging into his palms at his sides. He's sick of hearing this, sick of her, but of course she isn't going to stop just because he told her to.

“What,” she chides, “Am I making you mad? I like you, Allen, don't get me wrong, but riling you up is just too much fun. Take that Marshal we killed, for example. Do you know what the best part was? Stringing him up and watching him squirm, helpless to do anything but wriggle and die. And your long-haired friend? Man, did he put up a good fight! Every time it looked like Skinn killed him, he'd just get back up and keep going. Something fishy there, I'd say, he's got lives to rival even a Noah, which I guess was proven when he killed poor Skinn. Do you want to know what the look on that guy's face was when he died? Because I saw it, and my God it was heartbreaking, even for me. Just the look in those eyes alone as the Ark swallowed him, molecule by molecule--”

“I said _shut up_!” he bursts, his voice echoing off the walls and back in his ears, and Road finally shuts her mouth, watching him with an amused upturn of her lips. It doesn't matter how much his head hurts, how badly he just wants to take the others and find a way out of here; he knows, with more certainty than he knows anything else right now, that he needs to kill her. She's dangerous, she's killing his friends, killing their family, and he cannot condone that. “We are going to leave this Ark,” he says lowly, keeping his gaze set harsh on hers, burning silver meeting calm gold, “And you are going to die here, because I am going to kill you.”

“You can't kill me,” she chuckles, pushing herself off of the chair she'd been leaning against, “And while I'd love to see you try, there's somebody else I want you to meet first. He's just been _dying_ to meet you.” Before he has time to figure out what she means the air behind her shimmers, and he knows what's coming before it takes physical form; he remembers it from Denmark, the large, obscure door that had materialised seemingly out of nowhere. She grins at them as it takes shape, swinging open before them to reveal the black abyss inside. “I'll meet you upstairs, darling,” she coos, then steps through it, disappearing before them.

There is a long silence that follows her exit, heavy with continence and anticipation, until Lenalee finally breaks it, her voice quiet in the suddenly still air of the library. “I think we should follow her,” she says, and Allen turns to look at her, Lavi watching the door with a narrowed eye. “It's the only way out, right? And we don't have a lot of time left, so if we're going to fight them, we should do it sooner rather than later.”

She is, unsurprisingly, right in her assumption, and despite his hesitation to follow a Noah through a mysterious door to meet what he can only assume is another of their clan, Allen has to agree; there is no way but forward. Lavi gives him an affirmative nod at his glance, and Allen steps forward to pull the door open, staring into the dark abyss beyond. He takes a deep breath, gives his friends a reassuring smile, then steps through, both of them following after him.

They find themselves at what he assumes is the top of the tower, standing in a large open room with a rounded roof and archways along the outside looking over the blue sky beyond, the town small enough now that they can't see it from where they stand. There is a slight breeze that flows between the archways, light on Allen's skin and picking up his hair, a welcome change to the closed corridors and rooms they had been traipsing through. There is a figure across the room, sitting on the edge of the tower and overlooking what must be left of the Ark's town, smoke trailing languidly from between their fingers and a hat sitting beside them; Road stands next to them, glancing back at the Apostles with a sly smile at their entrance. “Tyki,” she says, looking down at the figure, “We have guests.”

The man turns around, flicking his cigarette down into the world below as he turns and stands up, slicking his hair back with a hand and placing the hat on top. “So we do,” he hums, glancing up at them, and Allen's heart stops in his chest.

“I know you,” he blurts out, his brow creasing as he tries to figure it out. This is the man that had been in his dream, had torn his heart from his chest, and while he finally understands why he had felt such fear at their face, he knows them from somewhere else, some time earlier than that.

The man grins, watching them with clear gold eyes. “I should hope so,” he says, teeth flashing white. “It wasn't too long ago that we met.”

“Holy crap,” Lavi breathes, his eyes set wide on the Noah. “You're that guy Allen stripped at poker.”

And then it all clicks; the route back from Turkey, the smoky pub on the corner, the deck of cards that still sits heavy in his breast pocket, a rough hand firm in his own. “Mikk,” he whispers, and the Noah both smile in unison. “All this time, you were...?”

“A Noah?” he chuckles, “Yes. It's a shame, though; I was really looking forward to a second round, but it looks like we're going to be playing a game of a different nature.”

Road clicks her fingers and the air shifts behind Allen, startled yelps coming a moment after, and he turns to be met with clear glass, Lavi and Lenalee trapped inside, Lavi slamming his fist against it in frustration. “What did you do?” Allen snaps, whirling back around to face the Noah.

“Not much,” Road replies, absently tugging at a piece of her hair. “It's perfectly safe, don't worry. I've just detained them for a while so that you and Tyki can have a fair fight, without any _interruptions_.”

He hates the way her eyes fall on his friends as she says this, that smile still on her face but her eyes cold and hard. Tyki takes a step forward, fixing his gloves with a look on his face that makes Allen nervous. “I hope you've said your prayers, boy,” he says smoothly, and then he holds his palm out towards Allen, a small black orb forming in the space just before it; Allen barely has time to activate his arm to use as a shield before it launches across the room towards him, a low whistle sounding in his ears at it clips past his shoulder, and before he can wonder why Tyki had missed with such a clear shot, something drags him backwards, following the trajectory of the orb as he is flung across the room, tumbling across the floor. Tyki laughs, low and darkly humoured as Allen picks himself up off the ground. “You're in way over your head, Apostle,” he chides, picking the gloves off his hands finger by finger, slipping them off and into his pocket.

Allen grits his teeth, trying to focus on Tyki as his vision blurs in and out of focus. There is moisture welling in his left eye, and he knows that if he reaches his hand up to touch it, his fingers will come away red; this close to two members of Noah, it is giving him even more agony than before, and the fight is only proving to agitate it further. He glances at Lavi and Lenalee, hands pressed against the glass as they watch in horror, and his resolve hardens as he looks back at Tyki, both Noah carrying their sick grins. They have killed so many, and he will not let them kill again-- he has to protect the few he can. He charges towards Tyki, ducking and digging his claws into the ground as another of those strange spheres is fired at him, its pull even stronger than the last, and he worries about what will happen if one actually makes contact with him, but he is not willing to find out. Tyki doesn't move from his place even as Allen draws closer, close enough that he is within reach, but when Allen swings his arm his claws only meet with empty air,

Lenalee screams “Behind you!” just as Tyki says “Surprise,” and Allen swivels around just in time for the back of Tyki's hand to collide with his face, hard enough for his vision to swim black and his knees to hit the ground. There is a laugh resounding through the tower, in Tyki's smooth voice but with the tone of the truly insane, high and somehow pleasured, and while it should scare him, it only makes him angrier, untapped fury rising in his chest and fuelling him where he should have long since collapsed. “I'll kill you,” he hisses, sticky with the blood in his nose, to which Tyki only says, “Try me,” and Allen charges at him again.

“Stop,” Lenalee breathes, and Lavi pulls his eyes from the fight to glance down at her, hands against the glass and dark eyes wide with horror. “We have to stop them. Allen can't win this on his own.”

He moves his eyes over to Road, sitting atop her umbrella and watching the fight with pleased curiosity. “We need to get out of here first,” he mutters, trying to sift through the information he has already been able to gather. There must be some kind of loophole to the Noah's abilities, one that they should be able to exploit to get out of whatever Road has put them in; he returns to watching Tyki, trying to catch if the abilities of an Apostle seem to have any effect, but his attention is drawn away again as Lenalee steps back from the glass, his eyes drifting down to her feet as a familiar red encasement begins to creep up her legs, forming the boots that he has always been intrigued with, but there are bigger things at hand and he simply asks her, “What are you planning to do?”

“Get us out,” she replies, her eyes hard, and then she swings, her knee colliding hard with the glass; the impact leaves only a few cracks in the surface, but it is more than either of them had been expecting, so she repositions her feet to prepare for another shot.

“I suggest you stop doing that,” Road says beside them, her eyes still glued to the commotion before them. Lenalee pauses for a moment, gauging the Noah's expression, then promptly ignores her, striking the glass again, harder this time. “I warned you,” Road sighs, then clicks her fingers, and Lavi cries out in agony.

Lenalee turns to look as Lavi presses his back against the wall, pulling a small, pointed candle from where it had been buried in his upper arm, his blood dripping from its tip. “Lavi,” she breathes, stepping over to place a hand on his shoulder, “Lavi, are you alright?”

“Dandy,” he spits through his teeth, opening his eye to catch Road's proud grin in their direction. “I suggest you listen to her, though. I get the feeling the next one won't be so kind.”

Road barks out a laugh, Lenalee turning back to glare at her. “You're smart, bookman,” she says, kicking her feet where she hovers beside the glass. “I like you, so it's a shame I have to use you as an example.”

“If you feel remorse for what you're doing,” Lenalee bites, “Then don't do it.”

“I never said I felt remorse, I just said it was a shame.” They all glance back at the fight as there is a small explosion, dust rising in the air, but the nerves of the Apostles settle just a little as Allen emerges on his feet, lapsing back into action. “Tell me, bookman,” Road begins, bringing their attention back to her, “Have you found Eve yet?”

They both stiffen, stricken with thoughts of wonder at how much the Noah know, what they are aware of. Lavi wonders especially why Road is specifically asking him, and he only hopes that she can accept that he has no information to offer. “What do you know about Eve?” he asks instead of providing a real answer, hoping to have some of his own questions answered.

Road grins, her gold eyes almost gentle in the expression. “No more than you do at this point, I believe,” she tells him, and then her eyes spark with mischief, glancing down at Lenalee. “It could be any one of you. My bet is on this pretty little girl here. Quite fitting for her, don't you think?”

“What makes you say that?” Lenalee asks, tearing her eyes from the battle before her to glare hard at the girl. “What do _you_ know about me? What do you know about any of us?”

“I know many things about many people, Apostle. You have no idea how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things.”

They are interrupted by raucous laughter from Tyki, high cackles that strike fear in all of the Apostles, but Allen especially; he has not been as strong as he thought he could be, the pain in his eye overwhelming and leaving him weak, defenceless before the hands of the Noah that now towers above him. Tyki squats down and grabs his collar, picking him up off the floor, gold too thick around his diluted pupils as he grins sickeningly in Allen's face. “What's the matter, boy?” he hums, dragging Allen to his feet as he stands up. “Is that all you've got? I was expecting more from the cursed prophet, but I suppose you all die the same.”

Allen grits his teeth and pushes Tyki away from him, struggling to regain his balance as the man lets go of his collar and takes a step back, chuckling all the while. He can't falter, not here, not now, not when so much is depending on him-- but he has very little strength left. He is so tired, of the fighting, of the pain, of the fruitlessness of it all. Lenalee calls out to him, seeming so quiet across the vast space of the tower and through the rush in his ears, and he remembers why he is there, what he is fighting for; he shifts his feet, raises his arms, meets Tyki's eyes with all the determination he can muster. “I'm going to end you,” the Noah says quietly, almost gentle, and then a wide-toothed grin breaks out across his face, laughter bubbling in his throat. “I'm going to end you!”

Tyki raises his arms, palms facing the Apostle, and something sparks around Allen, a cold feeling dropping in his gut. The Noah cackles as something begins to form around him, a darkness beginning to obscure his vision, and then it swells, outward from his chest and encapsulating his whole body, plunging him into a darkness deeper than any he has known and stealing the breath from his lungs. He can still hear Tyki screaming at him, _die, die, die_ , but it soon fades out to nothing, a silence so still that he can hear his own heartbeat pulsing steadily weaker in his ears, can feel every drop of blood pushing through his veins, throbbing in every nerve. He can't breathe here, his lungs gasping for air he can't find, and he absently wonders if he is finally going to die, his eyes sliding closed and his arm reverting back to its natural state as his consciousness wavers.

He dreams that he is floating, immersed in water but able to move freely under its weight, and he opens his eyes to a colourless expanse, endless and dark, and he feels as though he could rest here forever, weightless and untroubled by the world he can no longer see. He can hear whispers in his mind, a faint voice that is too quiet for him to make out, gentle yet feeling somehow urgent, calling to him.

His heart thumps suddenly in his chest, a single, hard kick, and he coughs, somehow finally sucking in a much needed breath. _Allen_ , he hears, and it kicks again, shaking every fibre of his body, burning in his chest. _Allen, get up_. Again, and bile rises in his throat.

It pulses through the floor, vibrating under the feet of those who watch, only seeing the bursts of energy rolling outwards from within the black sphere that holds him. Even Tyki, who had been smitten with glee only moments ago, now watches with curiosity bordering on surprise, on worry, but does not relent his hold. A beam of white light spears through the sphere, others following it in time with the pulses they come to recognise as a heartbeat, and then there is one final, bone-rattling pulse, rolling out as a shock wave that sends Tyki toppling to the floor, cracking the floor and rattling the walls. The blackness around Allen disintegrates, leaving him shrouded in a cloak of white that almost hurts to look at, hovering in the middle of the room.

To Allen there is only darkness, his body calm and his breath coming evenly. There is a warm presence around him, gentle and reassuring, and he welcomes it like an old friend, revelling in the stillness it brings. He remembers the words in his mind, the voice that is not his own but feeling so much a part of him; the voice remembers him, too.

_Fight_ , it says, and he obeys.

The others watch as the white shroud disperses, Allen's body slowly touching down, and he stands facing Tyki as he picks himself up off the ground. There is something different about him, the Apostles know, watching from within their cage; he is calm, serene, almost terrifyingly so. He raises his left hand, still in its red-stained skin, index finger pointing directly at Tyki, and there is nothing but silence, nothing but the wind whistling between the arches. Tyki at first looks surprised by the transformation within Allen, but after a long moment of nothing, he seems to figure that it must be an empty threat, that the Apostle is still just as weak as before; he snickers, and then there is the sound of something tearing as Tyki's upper right side is burst clean from his body. Allen watches with unsettling impassiveness as Tyki screams, falling to his knees, clutching at the space where his arm had been.

“What the hell,” Road mutters, and Lavi glances up to see her eyes wide with shock, stricken with horror. He feels as though it is safe to assume that they have never come across something like this before; it is rare for the Noah to be surprised, and even rarer for them to be so visibly shaken by it.

“Lavi,” Lenalee breathes, and he glances down at her before following her eyes out to where Allen still stands over Tyki, hand dropped back down to his side as the Noah watches him in panic while his arm regrows. “That can't be Allen,” she whispers, “It can't be. Allen's not...”

She trails off, and Lavi only puts a hand gently on her shoulder in response, unable to find the words himself. They watch in silence as Tyki rises to his feet again, fear in his eyes as he takes a few steps backwards. “What are you?” he asks, but Allen doesn't answer; he only raises his arm again, pressing a finger gently to his lips with what almost looks like a smile before pointing once more at Tyki. He holds the hand still for a moment, letting the Noah stew in his fear, then draws a small cross in the air with his finger, down and across, opening his hand so that the palm faces his opponent once more. His lips part as a single word rolls off his tongue, and blood spurts from Tyki's chest, the shape of the cross carved into his flesh with its points meeting in the place over his heart. He stumbles backwards and collapses in a heap on the floor, Road screaming out his name as she floats over to land beside him when there is no response, gathering him in her arms and cradling him.

Allen suddenly drops to his knees, short for breath and his vision swimming, and as he blinks his eyes clear Road's eyes snap up to him, Tyki's blood on her hands and her face wrought with rage, dark and more terrifying than she has ever been before. “You,” she growls lowly, small hands clasping in the fabric of his coat. “What did you do?”

Panic and fear knot themselves in Allen's chest and leave him at a loss for any kind of reasonable answer. He has been lucid the whole time, but he can find no explanation for his actions, no way to figure out what the hell he just did; he looks down at his hand and finds it the same as it has always been, red-stained and rough and a little numb through his fingers. “I don't know,” he says, moving his eyes over to Lavi and Lenalee in the small hope that they might understand, but their faces show just as much confusion as he feels.

“Liar!” she screams, her voice reverberating around the damaged room, but she brings it back down to her more menacing tone. “Not even Apostles have that kind of power. You need to pay for what you've done,” she says, and Allen doesn't understand until her eyes flick over to where Lavi and Lenalee stand.

“Don't you dare,” he mutters, but she narrows her eyes and Lenalee gives a surprised yelp, forced backwards by something they can't see, and the cage splits around them, forming two separate holds to keep she and Lavi apart. “Road, please, don't do this.”

“Why not?” she barks, the three of them watching in horror as an abundance of sharp-tipped candles materialise in a wide circle around Lenalee's container, all pointed inwards. “You hurt my family, I hurt yours. Your actions have consequences, Allen. You would do well to remember your place here.”

“Allen doesn't even know what he did!” Lenalee cries, trying to keep herself composed despite the wide panic in her eyes. “You can't blame him for something he didn't consciously do.”

“Shut up,” Road snaps, flames igniting on the ends of all the candles. “You deserve to die, you fake piece of shit.”

“Road,” a man says from behind them, and Allen's blood runs cold. “Leave the pretty young lady alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is perilously close to canon, but it's going to start deviating a lot more in the next few chapters.


End file.
